Addicted To Love
by theglamourfades
Summary: A month without alcohol. Fenchurch East's two most senior detectives could cope with that, couldn't they? Faced with their toughest challenge, Alex and Gene endeavour to find other ways to fill their time. Set between S1 and S2. 100% Galex (with the team making appearances, obvs). M rated from Chapter 2.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This idea has been in my head since not very long after I started watching A2A, and has developed from a fairly silly two-shot into something much longer. Still a work-in-progress, but I was so excited to get some of it done that I thought I'd start posting now. (I should say, apologies if this bears any similarity to other fics that have been published - that's the risk of coming late to a fandom!)**

 **Set between S1 and S2, and will veer away from canon (although really, this is how I wish it would have been). And little warning, it's not going to stay T for very long...*ahem***

 **None of the A2A world belongs to me, but instead to Matthew Graham and Ashley Pharoah/Kudos/BBC etc. Special thanks to bugsfic for the gorgeous caps for the cover art and for the encouragement to venture further down the yellow brick road (check out that _Wizard of Oz_ reference!) **

**(if only the song would have been released earlier than '86...)**

* * *

 _Addicted To Love_

Chapter 1

As strange and almost indecipherable as this world was, there were familiarities that offered shelter from the unseen storm. Half-forgotten fragments of childhood glimpsed on the corner of a street or the fashions that were paraded as though they were nothing out of the ordinary, colours and patterns so garish that they made her eyes water. And then there was the nightly decamping after a day's work, reliable as clockwork – or 'beer o'clock' as Gene so typically put it. Alex enjoyed it more than she would openly let on; through no calculated choice she had all but isolated herself in 2008 and the camaraderie and communal experience of the 1981 – now 1982 – after-hours was a refreshing change.

She did feel sorry for Luigi, never getting a night off from them all. Tonight the mood was a particularly rowdy one, a gruelling case that had been driving them up the wall for weeks finally done and dusted. Her gaze went to the kind-faced proprietor hiding behind the bar, looking harangued by the lairy shouts and jeers. The little bars and bistros of Italy were surely much more refined, a million miles away from Fenchurch East.

At the current moment all eyes were on DS Carling as he recounted the previous evening in great detail.

"So I said to 'er, we're not issued with truncheons any more but I do 'ave somethin' else long and hard that you can get yer 'ands on."

The remark was met with a chorus of 'waheys' as Ray waggled his eyebrows, looking immensely pleased with himself. Alex and Shaz rolled their eyes simultaneously, the former taking a long gulp from her glass of house rubbish.

Chris leaned into his partner in crime, expression lighting eagerly. "What 'appened next?"

There was a not-too-uncharacteristic moment of silence while Ray pushed back in his chair, examining the mat beneath his pint with sudden enthusiasm.

"Err...she said somethin' about washing her 'air," he supplied, rubbing his hand awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Laughter erupted amongst the assembled gang, the punchline never seeming to get tired.

"Nice one, Raymondo," Gene barked, greatly disappointed in his oldest charge. "I was gettin' quite randy there, but now I'm goin' to 'ave to look elsewhere. Can always rely on you to be a letdown in that department."

"Yeah," Chris chipped in, near breathless as he endeavoured not to let the moment pass by, "and that's what she said 'an all!"

Another round of cheers erupted at DC Skelton being so quick off the mark, the aforementioned pumping both fists in the air.

Over the din, a sulking Ray struggled to make himself heard. "She looked like a right tart anyway. Probably wouldn't have even appreciated what was on offer."

"Of course," Alex interjected, holding her glass aloft, "because what discerning woman could possibly resist such charms?"

"Reckon she 'ad a pole stuck up her arse as well," Carling continued. "Right moody cow. Wouldn't want anythin' else to do with 'er."

He had pointedly looked towards Alex whilst making the affirmation, and she found it rather amusing. Well, she had to get her kicks from somewhere. She tried to picture it vividly; a night of passion with DS Ray Carling. She couldn't last for more than five seconds without giggling helplessly into the top of her glass, feeling somewhat repulsed by the images her mind had managed to conjure up which she didn't imagine to be that far from the truth – though she had no idea where Ray would have got a fake leopard-print rug from.

From the other side of the table Gene was riveted by the display from his delirious DI. _For Pete's sake, why was he always saddled with the loony ones?_ He had thought Tyler was batty enough but Gladys had nothing on Bolly Knickers for sheer weirdness. For a minute he was tempted to ask her what was so bloody hilarious but he swiftly thought better of it, knowing that she'd more than likely start spouting some psycho-babble nonsense or otherwise maintain that he _just wouldn't get it_ with a smug smile on those luscious lips of hers. She thought he was as thick as two short planks and nothing was likely to change that. He should give up even trying to figure her out; God knows he had bigger and better things to occupy his mind. Trouble was, they had all seemed to have deserted him several months ago. In fact he could pinpoint the very day and hour.

"Well, you know what that means, mate." Viv was the voice of reason, the bastion of sanity, clapping Ray on the shoulder as he raised his near-empty glass in his other hand.

"Yeah, yeah," Ray sighed, getting to his feet with a certain resignation.

"Somethin' you're first class at," Gene agreed, nodding towards Ray, "puttin' yer hand in yer pocket."

"An' that's what he'll be doin' later as well," Chris quipped, waiting for the applause, but lightning didn't strike twice.

"Same again all round, I 'spose," Ray enquired, picking up the empty glasses that were crowding the tables in pairs.

Everyone nodded or grunted, aside from Chris who appeared deep in contemplation.

"I thought I might try one of those Snakebites, see what the fuss is about."

Alex raised a hand. "I'd advise against it, Chris. It might seem like a good idea now but you'll end up regretting it later. Trust me."

She'd never been able to shake the memory of being fifteen years old, starting the evening perfectly dandy but ending up slumped against one of the benches in Regent's Park, willing herself not to throw up in a flower-bush.

"And don't forget," Shaz smiled sweetly, "a Tab for me."

Ray shook his head in contempt. "All this bloody Tab nonsense. You," he jabbed a finger in the air towards Chris, "need to 'ave a word with that missus of yours."

"I'm not invisible, you know," Shaz exclaimed, folding her arms against her.

"I wouldn't take it personally, Shaz," Alex said, "it's fairly typical behaviour for misogynists. DS Carling can't help it."

If his hands weren't full, she was fairly sure that Ray would have raised both middle fingers towards her.

Gene leaned both of his arms on the table, pout firmly in place as he looked Shaz squarely in the eyes.

"What's this all about, Granger? If you carry on like this much longer I'm goin' to 'ave to take yer uniform off you."

A burst of 'waheys' went up at the Guv's remark, and Alex watched keenly, detecting the faintest hint of red rushing into his cheeks.

"Dirty bastards, you bloody well knew what I meant," he quickly added, keen to take the heat off himself.

Shaz smiled in recognition of the Guv's embarrassment, before explaining herself. "I'm having a month off alcohol. Haven't slipped up yet, and I've only got a couple more days to go."

The idea was so foreign that she may as well have been explaining the theory of relativity in minute detail, the assembled faces around the tables utterly perplexed. Alex was the only one to get it, her eyes going wide and one arm raising as though they were in CID and she had come up with a winning theory.

"Dry January," she announced, causing even more blank stares from those around her.

"Umm, I s'pose you could call it that, Ma'am," Shaz said sympathetically, not wanting to make her superior look like a fool.

Of course – the phrase was a modern one, and the whole notion was alien in the early '80s, especially to a group of coppers, to whom having a drink or several at the end of the day was as common as telling a bunch of scummy criminals that they were nicked.

"Bloody 'ell," Ray exclaimed, not yet over the horror, "as if January wasn't depressin' enough. The idea of goin' the whole month without a pint would make me want to top meself after Big Ben 'ad chimed."

"It has its benefits," Shaz countered.

"Like what?"

"Well, it gives you a chance to detox after Christmas." None of the men were convinced by that. "You get a whole new perspective on things, your head's not so cloudy all the time. Plus, you save loads of money."

"Bollocks to that," was Ray's cultured opinion. He leaned over Chris's shoulder, lowering his head to his colleague's ear. "Are you sure you 'aven't got her up the duff?"

DC Skelton's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he turned to his girlfriend, panic-stricken. "Umm, Shazza...?"

"No, baby," Shaz assured, laying one of her hands atop Chris's. "I'm on the pill, remember?"

"Too much ruddy information," Gene muttered, thoroughly disgruntled.

Shaz shook her head, looking round at the team. "I think you should all give it a go. It's not that difficult once you get used to it. People do it for charity, we could all donate what we save to the Police Benevolent Fund."

"We'd be needin' to dip in ourselves after a month off the booze," Ray grumbled.

"I think it's a wonderful idea, Shaz," Alex said, smiling at her younger colleague and then looking round at the others one-by-one. "I'm fairly certain that you'd all live. Who knows, some of us might even grow a few extra brain cells as a result."

She made a point of turning towards DS Carling as she said that, smirking with a sense of mischief.

To her surprise he didn't glower at her as expected, but had the beginnings of a smile playing on his own lips.

"Well, y'know, I don't even reckon it'd have to be all of us," Ray suggested. "There's two people 'ere that spend more on booze than the rest of us put together. They'd make a fortune doin' the Dry January or whatever on their own."

The penny suddenly dropped, Alex turning to face Gene as the eyes of every other member of Fenchurch East CID fell upon them. She forced her mouth shut from where it had hung open, feeling herself grow warm from the cheers and chants that surrounded them. Certainly not from the striking steel-blue of Gene's gaze trained upon her.

 _Well, I could do it easily enough. But Gene? It'd probably be the end of him._

"What do you say, Guv?" Ray piped up again, relishing the rare opportunity to challenge his superior.

Gene thought for a moment or two before leaning back heavily in his seat, chin jutting upwards and arms firmly crossed against his chest.

"Piece of piss, Raymondo," he uttered with confidence. "Could do it in me sleep."

Alex couldn't stop herself from laughing at that remark. For some reason she could quite easily picture Gene in thread-bare pyjamas, knocking back a pint or two completely unawares.

 _There she goes, chucklin' away again. I don't think she'll find a month without dousin' 'erself in house rubbish quite so funny._

"What about you, boss," Chris asked, shaking his head swiftly, "er, I mean, Ma'am?"

She smiled from beneath her eyelashes, answering DC's Skelton's enquiry but not taking her eyes from Gene.

"Not a problem," she replied. "I hardly ever drank before I came here. I had to employ some kind of coping mechanism."

Gene scoffed at that, dropping his eyes to the table-top. Nobody was capable of that much of a transformation.

"That's settled, then," Ray grinned, clapping his hands together. "The Guv versus Drake over February. May the most sober win."

Both Alex and Gene watched as Ray headed towards the bar, looking so victorious that anyone would have thought he'd found a £50 note crumpled in the pocket of his leather jacket. Alex slugged the remainder of the red in her glass, regretting the fact that she'd put an order in for another bottle. Still, there was no law against it for a couple of days at least.

"Good luck, Guv," she uttered, lifting the empty glass by its stem with her elbow planted on the table.

Gene's face turned to a frown. "Don't need luck, Bolly. Though I s'pose I'd better stop callin' you that, wouldn't want to put any temptation in yer way."

Alex's curls bobbed wildly as she shook her head in defiance. "Oh, if you think I'd be swayed so easily then you're very much mistaken. This is a trained psychologist you're talking to, remember?"

"Like I'd ever bleedin' forget..."

Over at the bar Ray had just put the order in when Shaz sidled up beside him, red lace-gloved hands resting upon the surface.

"Just checking you've got my request right."

"Yeah, right," he replied, turning his back to the bar and looking over to the table occupied by the two highest-ranking members of the team. "You do know that it's not goin' to work, don't ya? They'll be at each others' throats within 'alf an 'our."

"That's the general idea." A twinkle lit up Shaz's face as she glanced over her shoulder towards the Guv and Ma'am, who were making eyes at one another as she spoke. "I'm tellin' you, it'll happen. When you stop drinking, you get other ideas in your head very quickly..."

* * *

It was February 3rd and Alex was feeling good. Very good, in fact. Shaz had a point – her head was remarkably clear, it made a real difference not to wake up and have the haze of wine still hanging heavy and fuzzing her senses, as well as making her throat feel terribly dry. She had been more of a morning person back in 2008 and it had been nice to get back to that, waking up naturally with the sunrise rather than dragging herself out of bed with a pounding headache.

This was a wake-up call, really, and one that she hadn't realised she needed until now. It had scared her to think how easily she'd slipped into the culture, not only to escape the torment of trying to figure out precisely how and why she had ended up here but also to prove that she was just as capable as the rest of them. _You're a modern girl, Alex_ , she told herself and did so again, _still a product of your time_. There was no need for her to become embroiled in the boys' brigade to show that she was as good a DI as anyone else.

She moved with purpose through the offices of CID, making a pathway for the room at the end, the tightly-closed blinds shutting out any light and signs of life.

 _That can't be good. The Lion must have a sore head._

At least it didn't have anything to do with a stinking hangover, though he never seemed to get them anyhow. He was probably more than immune by now, after so many dedicated years on duty. Gene was capable of looking after himself, as well as taking care of others (in more than one sense), but she was concerned. His moods weren't the most amiable at the best of times, and part of her was worried that he had become so reliant on the booze that leaving him to go cold turkey was akin to removing life support for a coma patient.

As she opened the door, knocking beforehand to give him enough warning to send her away if he so wished, she was engulfed by a thick cloud of smoke. She coughed as the substance hit the back of her throat immediately, waving her hand about to try to see better. The air was so polluted that she struggled to make Gene's figure out at first.

"Guv," she spluttered, "what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doin', Bols?" he retorted, his voice gruff, already affected by the tons of cigarettes he was ploughing his way through.

There was no smart-Alec quip to accompany his question, which indicated that the situation was very grave indeed.

"It's a serious fire hazard in here," she replied, aghast. "We should be grateful that Scarman made his visit some months ago because there's no way you would have passed muster with all of this."

She tried to think of the same scenario in 2008, although she wasn't sure that it would be the matter of smoking like the proverbial chimney that would have got Gene slung out of the force on his arse.

 _Mmm, his arse does look especially nice in those trousers. If he'd just lean a little further over then it'd be perfect..._

The thought took her by surprise with the grasp it held on her mind; not that she hadn't considered the same thing before, but right now it seemed to be all that she could focus upon.

He turned to face her, raising the tip of the next in line to his lips, and now she was preoccupied with his fingers as they held the cigarette with more finesse than she had come to associate with Gene. Those fingers, so long and surprisingly elegant, powerful when he was brandishing his gun. They had gripped onto her more than once, carrying her away from chaos, stroked against her skin softly to rouse her from the brink of unconsciousness. If she were honest, she wished she would have made more of the moments they were held to her.

They were teasing now against the cigarette and she wondered if he was doing it deliberately, attempting to play upon her weakness.

"Does it say your name on the door?" he questioned, a hard edge to his tone. "Didn't think so. My kingdom, my rules."

She sighed as she made her way in further, holding her breath as much as she could.

"You'll have taken several years off your life in the space of a couple of days."

Such a threat didn't faze him, at least not outwardly.

"You're a long time dead, Bols."

Alex frowned, arms folded against her. Of course she shouldn't have been surprised, any psychologist worth their salt could have predicted the course of action. He was swapping one addiction for another. On balance she preferred the drinking, and considered that it was going to be a long month – and that she would need to wear more perfume to drown out the scent daily.

Gene strode forward, emerging from the thick cloud not quite like an old Hollywood hero from a great romance. His expression was fixed as he stared her down, any vague sense of nostalgia completely removed.

"You come to check up on me then? See that I 'aven't got any secret stashes?" he all but accused her, opening all of the drawers in his desk with a series of loud slams. "Feel free to do a body search if you like an' all."

 _Oh, don't tempt me, Guv._

"See," he crowed while she peered into and shut them one-by-one, "Nothin'. When I do somethin', I do it properly."

"I didn't suggest otherwise."

"Still," his eyes were on her as she gazed back towards him, not realising that he had got so close to where she stood, "just so you're sure."

God, he was so suspicious all the time; she was half-surprised that he hadn't burst through the door to her flat in the dead of night, ransacking the place for bottles. It must be utterly exhausting being him, she considered.

"Are we off to Luigi's, then?" she asked him. "The others will be on their way, once the last of the paperwork is done."

He looked at her as if she were stark-raving bonkers; which to be fair, wasn't a particularly rare occurrence.

"We're off the booze, Bolly. Wouldn't that be like bunking up in a brothel when you've sworn celibacy?"

She let out a sigh, both hands planted on her hips. "We can just go there to eat, and soak up the general atmosphere."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You using this as an excuse to pile on the pounds? Be careful, Bols, else you won't be able to squeeze yerself into those tight jeans of yours soon enough."

 _Cheeky bloody git_. _Two can play at that game._

"What was your plan for the night then? Slippers and a cup of cocoa? You're not _that_ old."

"Oi, I should call that a punishable offence."

Alex chuckled. "I'm not sure you have the strength at the moment, Guv." She tried to suppress the tingling rush that surged through her body at the thought of Gene disciplining her in a very particular way. "The best way to face challenges like these is to continue with routine as normal. We want to be seen to be actively avoiding temptation, rather than hiding away. That way we can't be accused of anything."

The best way to get him to co-operate was to appeal to that mistrustful nature – unless it only happened to be extended to her.

Both hands planted in the pockets of his dark-grey trousers, he gave a grunt of agreement.

"Fair dos," he muttered. "What is it they say; 'if you can't join 'em...'"

"Beat them?" she bit back a laugh. "Well, I don't know if there's any need for that."

"Oh I dunno, Bols," he replied as they headed out of the door, steps falling in tandem, "'ave you been around Ray when 'e's pissed and you're sober? Enough to drive the bloody Pope to violence."

* * *

His ears were filled with the incessant chatter and whoops of laughter from the other side of the room – _right ruddy racket they were making_ – but his eyes were focused on another sight entirely. Gene took a last long drag on his one remaining cigarette, inhaling deeply as he watched Bolly standing at the bar. The back of Bolly, to be absolutely precise.

His gaze raked up at a snail's pace, past those ridiculous red boots – _she had no need for heels that big, she was near enough rivalling him for height as it was_ – to settle happily upon her legs. Those legs, so bloody long that they could reach up to her neck. He found himself fascinated at how they managed to be both slender and shapely at the same time. Oh yes, Bolly's legs were at the centre of many of his thoughts, most of them unrepeatable. He rather preferred them in that prossie's costume, barely covered, but the figure-hugging jeans did the job as well. The latter also had the advantage of showing off her arse to the finest degree. _And what an arse it was_. He teased her by claiming that it was bony, but as he looked at it now – really looked at it – he could tell that it was anything but. The memory of her bending over, hands behind her back as he held the stamp aloft that peachy backside came back into his mind with alarming detail, and he longed to be back there now, just the two of them. If he could play the scene again, he'd do a damn sight more than just stamp her bum...

The thoughts he'd had from the minute she walked in here on that first night, the same white leather jacket draped about her and fingers curled in the loops of her jeans, had persisted ever since; they'd only grown stronger and more vivid. Usually he had the luxury of downing a couple of glasses of scotch to quieten them for an hour or two but that option was lost to him now. Fan-bloody-tastic. Surviving without the fall-back of booze was bad enough; the last thing he needed was to have the horn so badly that he could barely sit straight.

She sauntered over to the table, 'drinks' in hand, hips wiggling to-and-fro. _Infuriating bloody woman, she knew precisely what she was doing._

"Cheers," she said, sounding far too chirpy for his liking, clinking her glass against his before they both took a sip.

"Jesus Christ," he grimaced, "flat as a ruddy pancake."

She let out a laugh, swirling the dark liquid in her hand. "I'd swap, but mine's not much better. I suppose Luigi hasn't had much call to use it, so God knows how long it's been sitting there."

Gene shook his head at the state of affairs; he'd rather go thirsty than assault his throat with that kiddy crap.

"I see what you mean about Ray," she peered past his shoulder to where DS Carling was currently brandishing a lighter in one hand and getting DC Skelton to lean forwards like a barrel, "his sense of humour isn't up to much to begin with, but at least alcohol puts a bit of a shine on it."

He huffed loudly, crossing both arms in front of him. "You see why it's become a 'abit, then."

Hazel eyes went wide as they stared at him; at the same time she put the straw carefully between her cherry-painted lips, chewing upon it and then sucking the contents of the glass up through it. _Dear Lord, if this is a test then there's no doubt I'm goin' to fail spectacularly, not to mention embarrass meself in the process._

It bobbed away from her mouth as she placed her chin against the curve of her hand. "It's going to be a long night. Might as well fill it with some conversation."

"No politics. Or feminism." He had to regain some control over the situation, if only for his sanity. "And none of that bleedin' psychology, either. Bad enough 'earing about it when I 'ave to as well as off the clock."

She had the look of a rabbit caught in the headlights, gawping and making him feel frankly uncomfortable, as though he was the one in the wrong – which was always the bloody case with her. All she did was throw him off his stride, headlong into the opposite direction.

"What?"

Her stunned expression shifted into a smile, leaving him intrigued, aroused and even more pissed off.

"Nothing."

 _Absolute fruitcake._ He could live to a hundred or more and he'd never work her out. More complex and irritating than one of those Rubix Cube thingies.

They fell into it right enough, talking as they usually did and mainly on the subject of work. The absence of a bottle or two didn't even occur to him after a few minutes; they didn't need it to fill in any gaps or lulls. Talking with Bolly was easy, mainly because she had a gob so unstoppable that she'd go to most of the effort.

"So," she uttered, her palms flattened upon the table, "what's your chat-up technique?"

The shift in topic caught him off guard, as well as the way she was looking up at him, best interrogative face in place.

"Eh? Why d'you want to know about that?"

"No real reason," she explained, leaning again on her elbow, "I'm just curious to see if you're the one who taught Ray everything he knows."

"Give me some credit."

She sniggered. "Go on, then. Tell me." After a second or two she inched nearer, bringing her face closer to his and getting into his personal space. "Is it all ' _alright petal, fancy a shag?_ ' Or something more refined, after all."

He would have laughed at her attempt at a Mancunian accent – she'd spent too long in those elocution lessons to sound like she hailed anywhere other than as far north as Watford. But the truth of the matter was that he couldn't avoid being wounded by her judgment of him, as apparently unchanged from the first day they'd come face to face. _She thinks I'm a heartless bastard, no better than some ruddy pig grunting and rolling about in its own muck._ When the fact of it was he did have a heart – she'd felt it beating for herself, and now she'd wheedled her way inside and had made a throne there, sitting all prim and proper and dictating everything he did.

 _Christ's sake, she was turning him into a proper ponce an' all. Probably best that she did believe he was a caveman, for both of their sakes._

"Nothin' wrong with bein' direct," he answered, seeing her smirk deepen. "Although I'd buy 'er a drink or two first."

"Of course."

He leaned forward in his seat, coming almost nose to nose with her, willing himself not to drop his gaze to her parted lips.

"Maybe even take 'er to dinner." She was keeping a poker face, taking another slug of Diet Coke. "Depends what she was into, really. But if I really fancied 'er, then somethin' nice. Trout and almonds. Or Dover sole, if she was lucky."

He shouldn't have said it. Showing his hand when he didn't have any aces, kings or queens hidden there. G _allopin' great idiot._

"But that didn't..." she muttered under her lipstick, a look of puzzlement washing over her pretty face. "It was only because I was going. Or I thought I was."

"Come again, Bols?"

He watched her intently as the cogs whirred in her mind, that perm of hers wavering as she shook her head firmly – as though she was trying to rid herself of something that was clinging onto her whole body.

"Never mind," she said eventually, leaving him exasperated once more. Everything was always half-finished with her, or she'd only give him part of the story before rushing off to solve it for herself.

"What about you," he moved quickly, not knowing how to change the subject other than have her kill it stone-dead, "'ow d'you go about snaring all those poor defenceless souls?"

She scoffed, pretending to play the innocent when he'd been party to the evidence himself. That dozy prick Danny Moore - though something told him that that encounter hadn't gone quite the way she had planned - and then the jumped-up city twat with the red braces and smackable face. And those were the ones he knew about. Neither of them good enough for her, though he wasn't sure that he was in any better league.

"Well, I'd talk to them, obviously."

"Bore their kecks off, more like. At least it'd save you some time later on."

Her fingers ran in little circles along the dented surface, tracing the condensation that had dripped down the side of her glass.

"But really, it's the non-verbal signals that work best. Subtle stuff. Most men aren't wired to even pick up on it."

She had brought her hand up to brush against the slope of her neck and by the lobe of her ear, winding a couple of fingers around a ringlet of hair. _Either she had banged her head and forgotten that he was a Detective Chief Inspector or she was playing him like a fiddle._

 _Or she simply didn't believe that he was interested in her._

"Sounds very clever," he said after a few moments of being tantalised. Couldn't let her think she'd got the upper hand, whatever was going on in that pretty head of hers. "Be careful you don't give away all of your secrets, Lady B."

"Oh, I think I can trust you with them, Guv. It might even prove to work to your advantage." She smiled as she straightened her back and shoulders, thrusting out her chest. _Yeah, he definitely wasn't going to fall for that._ "I'd be happy to give you a demonstration now, if you like."

"Up to you, Bols," he shrugged, "I could do with a laugh, seein' as Raymondo is about as funny as a hole in the arse."

He followed her gaze over to the bar, noticing her eyes lighting up after a few seconds of delectation.

"Ooh, he's rather nice."

His stomach churned with jealousy at the mere thought of her fawning all over some other bloke, but he resolved to keep his emotions in check – he'd done well enough up to now.

"Hellfire, Bolly," he spluttered, "I didn't know you were into cradle-snatchin'."

Her nose scrunched at his observation. "He must be at least mid-twenties. If it was the other way round and there was some young girl propping up the bar you know that all the guys would be telling you to ' _get in there_ '."

Gene shook his head, only half in denial. "Doesn't look like 'e's long out of short trousers to me." _She's probably picked 'im out specifically to get up my nose_. "You're old enough to be 'is mam. Is that what it is; speak to those maternal instincts of yours, does 'e?"

Bolly's face fell ashen suddenly, her bottom lip wobbling precariously. He barely had time to put the pieces together than she had got to her feet and was rushing in the direction of the ladies'.

"Bols, 'ang on..."

Before he could even get to the door where he dare not enter she had slammed it shut, the rush of air hitting him square in the face like her left-hook had done not too long ago.

 _Bollocks. Well done, Genie-boy. There you go, putting your crocodiles firmly in your gob again._

He stood outside the loos like a lemon, his back against the wall and thinking over and over what a stupid bastard he was. People said that all of the harshest truths came out when you got pissed – _Bolly had given it a tarted-up name once, 'in vino veritas' or some other fancy Latin nonsense_ – but as it turned out he seemed to be more of a vindictive prat when he was as sober as a judge. It'd be too easy to blame his old man or anything else for it; he was what he was and he was too bloody lazy to do sod all about it now. It was better for everyone when he'd had a skinful, so why on earth he'd agreed to this stupid challenge in the first place he hadn't a clue.

 _Because Bolly was harping on about what a good idea it was, and he just wanted to impress her like some nancy schoolboy._

She emerged after a few minutes with a bit of tissue balled into her hand, the bright blue gunk around her eyes smeared slightly and tempered with pinkish-red.

"Bolly," he began hesitantly, keeping his distance in case she decided to lamp him one. Not that he wouldn't have deserved it right then.

"I'm fine," she replied, the usually flawless tones of her voice shaking.

She lied to him too often - he was starting to suspect it was second nature to her - but he'd let this one slide.

"C'mon, I'll buy you a..." he just about caught himself in time, " _Shit_."

Beneath her facade she managed a weak smile. "I don't know if it was the right time to do this."

"It's never the right time for anythin', Bols."

She nodded and dropped her gaze to her silly boots, with Gene swiftly following her lead. What had been a great night had turned sour, all thanks to his mouth working before his brain had got into gear, and now neither of them knew what to do to diffuse the atmosphere.

"Um, we could go back to the station," he offered after what felt like a year's worth of silence, "there's a fair few files stacked up that could do with lookin' at."

It was a shit suggestion, but he couldn't come up with much better. Besides he didn't want her to go off and leave him on his own, because he had a fair idea that he'd end up throwing in the towel and would wake up in the morning face-down on the floor with Luigi standing over him, muttering a load of things he wouldn't be able to understand.

"We could," she said, tilting her head to the side, "or I could use the time to take you through some of my methods, step-by-step."

"Did you not 'ear what I said back there?" he bellowed, starting to feel the rage bubbling up from beneath the surface. "No ruddy psychiatry!"

Her eyes flared at him as her hands flew out from her sides. "Psychology! For god's sake, if you can manage it once then it shouldn't be too hard to remember the rest of the time, unless you do it on purpose purely to piss me off!"

His lips curled into a defensive pout as he shook his head at her. "Dunno why you want me to understand the foggiest about it, seein' as you bloody love bein' the expert on everythin'. Surely you'd miss the chance to lord it over me at every opportunity."

"I'm not suggesting that I teach you everything. The basics would be enough."

"Oh yeah, 'cause I'm too thick for anythin' more complicated."

"I didn't suggest..."

He watched her with blazing eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose, took in a deep breath. This could go on all night, and with no way of drowning out his frustration - he tried not to fool himself that it was sorrow he wanted to hide - he was more than up for it.

"Look, I won't be here forever. And before I go I want to leave you with something. You can't use threats and your fists to solve every case for the rest of time." Her voice calmed, turned softer as she tilted her head towards him. "You have to move on. I'd be doing it for your sake, Gene."

He wasn't entirely sure that he liked her using his name in this context, his arms folded tight against him to keep up a barrier; stop her from creeping in further to his thoughts and confusing him even more.

"Well, it works, doesn't it?" he muttered, low enough that it wouldn't start her off screeching like a banshee again. "An' I like the way I do things. Gets results, and makes me feel bloody good an' all."

"Oh well," she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air, "that's all that matters, isn't it? As long as the almighty Guv is happy, then screw the rest of us."

Okay, he hadn't been entirely successful in placating her, but he didn't mind the 'almighty' bit, at least.

"I didn't ask for this, you know," she said, her chest heaving with her exertions as her eyes locked with his. _'ere we go again_. "It's not like I thought, 'if I could go anywhere I could possibly think of, why not be stranded in 1982 with a pig-headed, obnoxious, arrogant, brash Neanderthal who thinks his way is the only way and stuff everyone else; yes, that'd be an absolute paradise'. You have no idea, Gene. Absolutely no idea."

He should have been used to this by now. Her rabbiting on with her crackpot thinking, and him taking the brunt. She was blinking at him, eyes blurring with tears, shoulders shuddering. She looked entirely lost, and he had the urge to pull her into his arms, shield her from everything she was fighting so hard against.

He didn't know what to do, and he never would, so sod it.

"Can't bloody take any more of this."

"Oh, come on, Gene, it hasn't even been 72 hours. If that's the case, then you do have a serious prob – "

He crashed his lips to hers, holding her face with both hands and pushing her back against the archway. From beneath his frame he could feel her start to yield to him, and he dared to hope that he hadn't been fooling himself after all.

Her eyes were still blinking fiercely as she opened them again, her mouth opening slightly though nothing emerged but warm breath.

"Christ, if I'd known I could shut you up this way I would 'ave done it a lot sooner."

One of his hands was still cupped against her face; he rubbed small circles over her cheek with the pad of his thumb, wearing a small smile as he leaned in again. This time he went slower, savouring every second that his mouth moved with hers. He was careful and considerate, but not a ponce; the longer they remained the more determined he was to show her the passion he'd been doing his best to conceal from her. He hadn't kissed a bird like this in...well, _ever_. It wasn't all about getting his own satisfaction. He teased his tongue against her lower lip, asking for entrance, and when she granted him it he felt her hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, then sliding up to his hair, tickling against the back of his neck. Without warning he was aware of his trousers beginning to feel that bit too tight. _Control yourself, Genie-boy._

"I...Gene..." she uttered breathily, which did nothing to help matters. "What are you...?"

He couldn't help but smirking at the effect he'd had on her, struck dumb and still unable to form complete sentences. Something that he never thought he'd be witness to as long as he lived and even afterwards.

"Like I said, Bols, never the right time. And by that reasonin', never the wrong time, either." He stared into the hazel pools of her eyes, his hand pressed against the wall keeping her in place, the curve of her body nestling dangerously close to his. "If we're both goin' to go through this, might as well make it worth our while. Don't yer reckon?"

She gulped in some air, and he worried for a moment or two that she was going to tell him where to go or give him a swift knee to the balls. If it was going to be anything, he'd prefer the former.

"'sides, we've already had dinner. And seein' as I can't get you a bottle of house rubbish to sweeten the deal, I don't reckon there's any other option but to go straight for dessert."

He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for somebody to tell him what a knobhead he was being before giving him a helping hand to freefall.

Her fingers came up to her shoulder, twirling her hair between them, the tip of her tongue darting out from between her lips.

"Well, I don't see why not. Your methods of persuasion are very effective after all."

She pushed herself off the wall, and he thought she was going in for another snog until she swerved her head further to the side, angling her mouth to whisper in his ear.

"I think you might want to get your coat, Guv. Because you've pulled."

* * *

 **A/N: I know Gene smokes cigarillos rather than the conventional ciggie, but I'm not sure whether he could chain-smoke those (fairly irrelevant detail in the grand scheme of things, I know...).**

 **Would love to know what you think so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reads and reviews so far! Writing these two is so much fun.**

 **Onto the next chapter - and things are about to get M-rated... (hopefully it's not too awful *runs away and leaves them to it*)**

* * *

Chapter 2

On the outside Alex Drake preserved her usual practiced sense of composure, but inside she could barely contain herself as all of the emotions she had determined to keep battened down over the past few months rose to the surface, pulling her head and whole body underneath without any attempt at a fight.

 _Oh god, Gene kissed me. I kissed him back, several times. And now I've invited him upstairs, in terms that can't possibly be misinterpreted. Well, Alex, there's no turning back now._

Her heart convulsed. The phrase had more than one meaning, she told herself, and just because she was going to go down this road – completely instinctively, it seemed – that didn't rule anything else out. She could do this, be with Gene for the night, and it wouldn't stop her from getting back home. Everything else that she thought had had so much significance hadn't made any difference, after all.

She was a few steps ahead of herself, and him, and she cursed herself for reverting to type. _Just go with the flow, take each moment as it comes. Maybe that's what you need to learn from this world_. There wouldn't be the option of a drink or two, or even three, to take the edge off her nerves. She supposed that she could offer coffee but she knew without asking that he wouldn't be into that. Too poncey. Truth be told she only drank it because she'd become accustomed.

She heard his voice echoing in her head as he looked at her without saying a word, the effort of not dropping his gaze a few inches lower to her cleavage etched wearily upon his face.

 _Stop bloody fannying about, woman._

It was now or never, and _never_ struck her as a fearful option more strongly than it ever had up until now. He was here, horny as hell – she could tell that quite clearly, with a sense of pride overwhelming her – and she was here too. Feeling the same, for better or worse.

Luigi's had emptied by the time they crept out from their hidden corner, her cheeks flushed as she peeked through into the deserted restaurant. Had they been snogging that long? She wouldn't have minded doing it all night; _making up for lost time_ , _far too much of it._ The undertones of cigarette smoke lingered on her lips and tongue, and she couldn't say that she minded. She craved more of him, with an intensity that frightened her as much as it thrilled. If she had had any remaining convictions that he was nothing more than a figment or construct conjured partly from her own imagination then they were all firmly erased from the moment she had registered the warmth of his hands placed against either side of her waist, his mouth claiming her own with an underlying tenderness that she had only dreamt about and never seriously expected from him.

Her hand fumbled against the air as she followed close behind him, already aching from the loss of contact. He took hold of her fingers, looking over his shoulder at her as he linked them together, the look in his eyes anchoring her to the moment – to him - and giving her another good reason to smile.

They simultaneously hesitated at the foot of the staircase, Alex's heart jumping up into her throat. Was it possible to reach a higher level of sobriety, especially given what they were both so used to; one which told you that what you had been thinking really wasn't such a wise idea after all?

"Lead the way, Lady B," Gene uttered lazily whilst still possessing all of his authority, one arm raised to the ascension.

She realised in a flash what he was playing at, and felt a little foolish for the graver conclusions she had drawn.

"You just want to gawp at my arse."

"Been doin' that most of the night," he affirmed her suspicions, and try as she might to come across unimpressed she was apparently powerless to prevent the smile from crossing her lips. "But gettin' up close and personal is a different matter altogether."

She turned slowly, taking each stair leisurely, placing her feet together upon each one before broaching the next. The power she felt in teasing Gene with her feminine allure ran heady at the best of times but it had reached new heights altogether now that they were on the precipice.

There came a slap of his palm against her right buttock, firm and so loud that the clap reverberated from the walls and stung lightly in the fabric of her jeans.

"Not bloody bony whatsoever," she heard him mutter apparently to himself, and then he gazed up at her from his position a couple of steps beneath. "You 'ave got an exceptional rump, Bollykecks. Just right for takin' 'old of."

To punctuate his assertion, he gave her arse a quick squeeze.

Alex stifled a giggle – she did actually find the word 'rump' somewhat hilarious, especially with the not-subtle-in-the-slightest connotations Gene had since imbued it with. Her breath quickly drew when she felt his hand stroking round the curve of her bum, tracing the seams and stitching of her jeans with careful fingers.

 _For God's sake, a man like that shouldn't turn you into a pile of jelly, hopeless and breathless and almost begging him to throw you over his shoulder and take charge of you._

Perhaps in the real world he wouldn't – if she had a semblance of herself still existing – but here it was an different story.

She regained some of her power when they made it to the top, trailing her hand down the length of his tie before inching back up, grasping it in her fist and pulling him close. His breath was upon her, his mouth mirroring the angle of hers as she tilted her head – and then pulled back at the very last second. She smiled, eyes twinkling at the faint sense of anger and frustration simmering in his.

"Fuck's sake," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly and doing incredibly wicked things to her.

"Patience, Guv," she retorted, fishing the door key from her jacket pocket. "You should know that good things come to those who wait."

She watched hungrily as his eyes burned and he barely held back a groan from the back of his throat.

"Just you talkin' about comin' is sendin' me into bloody overdrive."

She smirked, pressing her thighs tighter together in an attempt to alleviate the pressure that was already building there.

"Well, you'd better step inside so we can get this started."

Sometimes she thought she was a different person entirely here, or at least another incarnation of herself. If she considered it for too long it made her feel as though she were spiralling, slipping out of time entirely. She closed the door behind her a few moments after he had gone inside, her back resting against it as she watched him pace the floor of her living space. He seemed taller somehow, or perhaps the ceiling had lowered. Through the looking glass or down the rabbit hole, where everything had shrunk aside from the two of them, left to confront this attraction that had been steadily growing between them. It seemed to have got to the stage where it consumed everything else and she wasn't quite sure what she was waiting for. To wake up, perhaps; to be pulled back at the very last moment, her timing being typically lousy.

She thought about how lonely she felt. At least in this place there was colour, sound. Gene shouting the odds and telling her to stop getting her knickers in a twist. He was always there as a touchstone, a guardian, a shoulder to cry on if she ever felt brave enough to let her walls down and if he wasn't made uncomfortable by her displays. As crazy as it sounded, he was her constant. She doubted she would have survived more than a day here without him.

Was she doing the right thing? She was always so keen to play by the rules. If she damaged their friendship – for that was what it was by now – by sleeping with him she didn't know what it would mean. Would she be transferred 'somewhere else'? There was so much to lose, and she wasn't sure what she could gain. There were plenty of other men here to quell her carnal urges. Granted, the ones she had picked out thus far hadn't been entirely memorable. She remembered keeping her eyes closed for the most part with Red Braces – she didn't even know if he had given his name – thinking of a conversation about what could happen in the last few minutes on Earth all of the while. When she had woke, before what could be reasonably classed as the morning, she had ached with regret, feeling full of remorse and the same voice resident in her head, telling her what a silly tart she'd been. When she was thinking straighter, she answered it back.

 _Yes, I know. I wish it would have been you. I wish, so much..._

She couldn't go with any other man, as she had learnt a while ago that she didn't want anyone other than Gene.

In the first few weeks she would have had to get steaming drunk before the thought crossed her mind. Then she would have needed a bottle and a half down her just to summon enough courage. But she was glad of being sober now; she wanted to be aware of every single second, feel each kiss and touch with every nerve and fibre, and not run the risk of anything dulled or drowned.

Suddenly she recalled what Shaz had said on the evening the little challenge had first been put forward.

"Benefits, indeed," she said, half-covering her mouth with the curve of her hand but not bothering to conceal her heated gaze as she ogled Gene's form, those legs that went on forever and a little bit more.

He frowned as he stalked nearer to her, an animal with its prey firmly in sight.

"Reckon you need shuttin' up again, Bols."

She met him halfway, leaning far enough forward that she nearly collapsed against him, but with luck his arms went round her to catch her before she fell. The heat of his body pressed against hers was enough to make her dizzy all on its own but the hunger in his kisses was entirely welcome, more than matched by her desire. His tongue tangled with hers, soft and yet full of urgency, giving her just what she needed. He was a wonderful kisser, and if this was a precursor to the legendary prowess that he so often bragged about then she could barely wait, her knees going weak with anticipation.

"Mmmm, Gene," she sighed, sounding like a dreamy and lovesick teenager.

The smirk on his face was almost insufferable, but most definitely devastatingly attractive.

"That's the only French you'll ever catch me actively practisin'."

He stroked a thumb against her cheek, looking deep into her eyes – and she cracked up laughing.

"Ey, this better not be a sign of things to come," he said gruffly.

Ruddy typical; he was trying really hard to be romantic, just as he thought a woman like Bollykecks would appreciate, and then she goes and laughs in his face. If he didn't have the raging horn for her he'd have the mind to turn around and walk out this very moment, leaving her hopeless and screeching herself hoarse on her knees. Except he didn't really relish going back home and spending most of the night wide awake with a hard-on the size of the Eiffel Tower for company, thinking of nothing but her. There she was again, making him sound like a bloody Francophile. The power she held over him was inescapable and it unsettled him; no other woman had affected him this way, not even his former missus. It was almost as though that had been a whole other existence, and while she had been fit as a butcher's dog with an ample chest he knew now that she paled in comparison to Bolly.

If he was honest he wasn't offended. It was worth it to hear her laugh – she sounded even more downright gorgeous when she did so – and to see her face light up as a product. She was very good at wearing a mask and keeping it in place, knuckling down to the job and being professional, but he could see the sadness she hid underneath. It didn't sit well with him; someone as young and bright and beautiful as her shouldn't be as sad as she was, like she'd known nothing else in her life. He never wanted to be taken as a case to be pitied – hardly anyone knew of the things he'd been through in his childhood, with his mam and dad and losing Stu years before it was right – but he knew more than most what it was like to go through shit times, to feel as if they were all that was. The thought of Bolly having such an existence, even with her little girl, broke his heart.

He didn't usually go in for such bollocks – _Bolly messin' with his head again_ – but he was beginning to think that maybe she'd been sent to him for a reason. Saving people wasn't what he did – he'd usually give them a smack or two round the ear, knock some sense into them and prop them back onto their feet before they went on their merry way – but the more he looked into Bolly's eyes, the more he was convinced that more than anything else that was what she needed.

 _Bugger. No bloody turnin' back now, Genie-boy; you're up to your neck in it._

She calmed herself down from her hysterics, a little too late for his liking, and stared up at him again. Her arms were draped about his shoulders, that fruity perfume of hers invading his senses as she leaned in close to him, her breasts centimetres away from crushing into his chest. _Christ on a bloody bike._

"You really are something," she murmured, a funny fuzzy look clouding her eyes – the kind he was used to seeing when she'd had a few too many.

"Better believe it, Bols," he answered, chest puffing out with pride.

She smiled, her hand slipping beneath the edge of his jacket and creeping up his torso. She had some bloody obsession with that, checking that he was real every five minutes. Couldn't say that he minded though, not if it meant that she was feeling him up. Her mouth pressed softly to his and he closed his eyes against the lightness of her touch and the plumpness of her lips. Jesus, she tasted good. More than that. He couldn't get enough of her, feeling like he was a bloke who'd wandered for years in the desert and had stumbled across a waterfall. Yet he refrained from taking this series of kisses any deeper, enjoying the feather-light caresses and the simple closeness. He needed to stop pretending that he was going along with it all merely for Bolly's benefit, just so he had a real chance of getting into her posh frilly knickers. He'd never had any inclination for this kind of kissing and touching, but now he realised what he had been missing. Not that he could imagine doing it with anyone other than Bolly.

Her hands had trailed down his back and were now resting at the top of his arse, and his head started to swim with the feeling that this was all very real, not just another bloody fantastic dream he'd wake up from having made a mess of the bed and himself. He tried to remember the last time he had had sex and not had at least a skinful, and found that he was failing to come up with a singular instance. Booze was always a cushion with the wife, most definitely towards the end. Really he prided himself on the fact that he could give a top performance regardless of the fact he'd sunk a few, never having had any complaints. But now he was one hundred per cent sober, and with Bolly to boot, and he started to worry. _The Gene-Genie doesn't do poofy, nancy worryin'._ He just wanted things to go right. Not just _right_ , but astoundingly brilliantly. He'd mouthed off often enough about how fantastic he was between the sheets and he'd never bloody live it down if he couldn't size up to those expectations and prove it to her. He wouldn't be satisfied unless she was clutching onto him like a limpet, legs shaking, breath catching, moaning his name loud enough that they'd be able to hear it in Manchester...

She drew back from him with another sigh, and looking at her his heart felt several times too big to fit within his chest.

 _Maybe she wasn't the only one who needed saving. Don't be daft; you've done alright up to now._

"Bedroom?" The word left her lips as a plea, her willpower dissolving further with each second that passed.

"Couch's closer," he mumbled, quirking his head towards the corner of the room.

Alex was startled by his thinking. "It's not big enough to fit the both of us!"

"Good point," Gene quickly agreed, watching as she laced her fingers in the spaces between his. "Speakin' of things bein' big enough, you'd better brace yerself now. Don't want you faintin' before the whistle's been blown."

She would have scoffed, thinking he was exaggerating again, but given the sheer size of the bulge she had felt pressing against her at intervals she took his word for it this time round with a thrill ringing in her head.

"We'll see, shall we..."

Alex pulled his head down for a deep kiss as they bundled through the door to her bedroom, bodies clasped together. Blind to everything except each other, she giggled hearing Gene swear at hitting his shins against the bottom of the bed.

"Bloody 'ell, satin sheets," he whistled, "everythin' about you really is as posh as yer gob."

"I do have a reputation to live up to," she responded, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

"That makes two of us."

Snatches of her most vivid dreams came back to her, throwing back the same covers to find Gene lying next to her. The heat rose to her head; she hadn't dared to tell him, and she wasn't going to start now, not when the reality was within such close distance.

He backed away suddenly, his imposing frame coming into full view in front of her. His eyes were burning fiercely as he stared at her in turn.

"What you waitin' for, woman?" he all-but-growled. "Kit off."

She shook her head whilst stifling a disbelieving laugh. "You're not my superior here, Gene. We're on an equal footing. Which means that I think _you_ should do the job."

He huffed incredulously, even as he padded nearer to her again. "Don't waste any time, do yer? Already got me knackers in a vice."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that." She smiled as her gaze raked lower, almost licking her lips with anticipation. Her eyes were wide when she looked back up into his own. "Please. I'll return the favour," she trailed a hand teasingly down his torso, past his waist until she brushed the front of his trousers purposely, " _Guv_."

His breath hitched registering her fingers so close to his groin; the pain was bad enough with the friction of his trousers and underwear, the last thing he needed was Bolly getting hold of the goods and making him even harder, if that was at all possible.

"Alright then, but let's make it quick. Been waitin' a hell of a time to see you in the altogether, Bols."

Hands and fingers worked nimbly; his tie and jacket were soon on the floor, and buttons nearly flew from his shirt with the urgency at which she was undoing them. _Christ, she's like a bloody wild animal_. It felt a bit weird but bloody amazing to know for certain that she craved him as much as he wanted her. For his own part he was surprised at his own restrained pace. The pearl buttons holding her blouse together were so bleeding fiddly. It blew his mind near to pieces; he'd thought it was good enough being inside Bolly's bedroom but now she was letting him unwrap her like a Christmas present. It was a bit late, but it was without any doubt the best one he'd ever received.

Finally he freed the last button and took a moment to fully appreciate the sight before him. He'd warned her about not losing consciousness but he should have given himself notice too, feeling light-headed as the rest of the blood in his body rushed firmly south.

 _Sweet Lord in heaven. No idea what I've done to deserve this, but I swear I'll never ask for anythin' else for the rest of me life._

Alex released a breath, watching him as he stared, mesmerised by her chest. With all her years of study and powers of analysis she'd never fully understood why men were reduced to reverent silence when confronted by the sight of breasts, but she confessed to liking brandishing the power. Especially so when it came to Gene Hunt, usually so brash and couldn't-give-a-fuck.

His fingertips tickled at her skin as they reached round, undoing the clasp with relative ease and then pulling the straps down her arms. He threw the silky bra away in the space of milliseconds, concentrating on her naked upper portion with more intensity than he'd done anything previously.

"Bloody knew you were a D cup," he murmured, moulding his hands to the soft rounded weights.

The feeling of Gene's big hands cupping her, just as she had fantasised for so long, was enough to send her skywards. She caught a flash of midnight blue in his eyes before he lowered his head, kissing one of her breasts and then closing his warm mouth over a pebbled nipple.

She shrieked aloud, tingles racing their way fast through her bloodstream.

"Oh god, Gene! Christ, yes..."

His tongue swiped over her hardened bud, licking and then sucking hard. Alex had never known pleasure like it, arrows of sharp desire shooting straight down to the centre of her thighs. He let go with a graze of his teeth, only to repeat the action on the other side whilst his finger and thumb toyed with the nipple that had been left aching from his attentions.

"Mmmm, Gene," she gasped, "I really need to touch you..."

He released her with a pop of his mouth, still cupping a breast possessively with one of his palms.

"Nothin' stoppin' you, sweetheart."

She brought him up with hands on his shoulders, swiftly dipping to tug the vest from his trousers. Her fingers were clumsy and too eager as she unbuckled his belt, catching her breath at the little clink of metal, her eyes blazing with lust while she removed his vest, ruffling his hair every which way in the process.

Gene's gaze was still firmly fixed to her chest, mouth going dry as he watched her breasts bob lightly while she ran her hands over his torso. Best bloody pair he'd seen in his life. He could happily spend his time buried in her cleavage, kissing and nipping until she pleaded for him to show her some mercy.

As her fingers started to dip perilously lower he beat her to it, hands tracing the waistband of her jeans and brushing the skin of her stomach. He managed to wrestle with the button and zip easily enough but going any further proved to be a barrier. They were so flipping skin-tight that they were practically welded to her.

"Jesus, you don't make it easy, do yer?" he puffed, just about getting the fabric over her bum. "Harry Houdini would 'ave trouble with these bloody things."

She laughed, stretching her arms back as she cushioned herself on the bed, wriggling her hips to help him along and being careful not to mistakenly kick him in the face.

"I thought you enjoyed a challenge, that's why I put them on especially."

"A challenge, not a bleedin' test of endurance."

The offending item finally removed, he took great pride in flinging them to the other side of the room.

"These for my benefit an' all?"

Alex cast her eyes downwards as he edged the lace with the tips of his fingers, the irony not lost on her as she became aware that she was wearing champagne-coloured knickers to match her previously discarded bra. Bloody hilarious, even if it hadn't been her intention.

"Very nice," Gene appraised, letting his hands stray a little further at the top of her thighs, "but I'd prefer them off yer instead."

And then she was completely bare, laid out before him. She'd never felt as confident whilst in such a position, not fearful or embarrassed but instead knowing that the power she wielded was unstoppable. It was a heady feeling to experience, especially when you were as naked as it was possible to be.

She propped herself on her elbows, offering him a wonderful view of her cleavage and the curves of her legs as they stretched out in front of her.

"I've shown you mine, now it's time to show me yours."

"Get ready, Bolly. 'ope you can 'andle what you see."

He rose to full height, shuffling out of his trousers and standing with pride at the foot of the bed. Once again he hadn't expected to be greeted by the sound of her helpless laughter, and felt himself start to burn.

"Crackin' up in front of a bloke in this situation isn't advised, Lady B."

She brought the back of her hand to her mouth, hearing the annoyance in his tone and feeling just a little bit guilty.

"I'm sorry," she wheezed, fighting to quickly compose herself before the mood was well and truly ruined. "Oh, Gene. Y-fronts, really? Things have moved on in the last couple of decades, you know."

From the incredulous expression on his face he clearly couldn't see that anything was wrong, and he glanced pointedly down to prove it.

"They do the trick, Bols. Don't want to be givin' everythin' away; I'm not a tart."

"Well, they're not doing a great job of hiding _anything_ at the moment."

A greedy smile crept onto her lips as she could see the outline of him through those awful briefs. She supposed they weren't the very worst she had ever seen and she was so far gone with desire for him, the feeling very clearly reciprocal, that it would have taken nothing less than a meteor hitting for her passion to be killed.

His eyes met hers again, his hands yanking down the fabric in haste.

"That any better for you, Miss No-Knickers?"

"Much," she replied with a purr, feeling the moisture pool at the apex of her thighs as she was finally treated to the sight of him in full glory. "I must say, you are in possession of a _very_ impressive weapon, DCI Hunt."

He let out a little chuckle at her quip, almost needing to pinch himself to be reassured that this was actually happening.

"Didn't expect anything less, did yer, Bolly?" He grinned with a glint in his eye as he inched further towards her, crawling onto the bed. "And I've 'ad years of trainin', so I know exactly what to do with it..."

She sighed as the heat of his skin pressed to hers, her eyes looking up into his and seeing nothing but the fire that burned between them. Her hands slipped to his shoulders as his mouth sought out hers, tongues entwining and breaths colliding.

"Gene," she pushed at him lightly when he started to kiss his way down her neck, taking stock of the tangle of limbs they had got themselves into.

He lifted his head, dirty blonde locks of hair hanging over his eyes. He looked at her through them, becoming aware of a sign of hesitation, and pushed himself back onto his haunches. _Jesus Christ, he had never learned when to put the breaks on._

"Yeah, okay," he said sheepishly, his gaze not having left hers. "I'll have to use yer bathroom to sort meself out though, if you don't mind."

"No, no," she answered him quickly, reaching a hand up to him for extra reassurance. "I want you, Gene. More than anything else right now."

She was pleased to see the unguarded smile settle upon his face, thinking how different but how wonderful he looked when he wore it.

"Let's just...slow things down a bit," she offered as further explanation. "Make the most of it."

He nodded at that, the sudden shock of nerves that had tightened in his stomach calming themselves down.

"Good thinkin', Bols. Wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea, after all." He smirked as he rose back on his heels, admiring her flawless form. "Want to be the best you've ever 'ad."

She tutted while she scooted up the bed, opening one of the drawers at her bedside. In her haze of desire and the feeling that reality had been temporarily suspended, she had almost forgotten about the need for protection. She wasn't even sure if it was possible but she couldn't risk having anything tying her to this world indefinitely.

"Of course, Gene Hunt's mighty ego never takes a day off," she half-teased, flinging one of the packets towards him and watching as he examined it. She wondered if he would make a comment about her being a slapper for having a box of condoms at the ready, but to her surprise he said nothing.

"Don't they make these in 'extra large'?" he quipped, causing her to raise an eyebrow. "Anyhow, I doubt there's much for me to beat."

Alex let out a sigh as she settled back against the pillows. "You're very likely right."

He wouldn't deny that he was mainly pleased about that, although the thought nagged at the back of his mind that perhaps she was just saying that to placate him. What would a classy bird like her want with a Northern flat-foot like him, past his prime? Well, she hadn't turned him down yet, and the night was only beginning.

There she was, laid out like the Queen of Sheba, looking entirely bloody delectable.

"Tell me what you want, Bolly," he uttered, his voice husky with need as his eyes raked over her. _Yeah, he could do foreplay, no problem. As long as it didn't last all bleedin' night and they'd get to the main course in good time._

She pretended to ponder for a moment or two, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her and near shivering with delight already.

"I want your hands all over me."

 _Yes ruddy please._

He rubbed his hands together so that they wouldn't feel cold on her, and slowly worked them from her legs to her thighs, caressing her neat waist and running up the sides of her curves, taking pleasure in the way she wriggled beneath his fingers and made soft, small hums with her mouth parted.

They came to a stop at her breasts and he couldn't help himself from lingering there, covering them with both palms and massaging, running his thumbs over the rosy nipples.

"You've got bloody gorgeous tits, Bols," he murmured approvingly, "Always knew they'd look even better like this."

As silly as it was, she felt herself blushing. "Thank you," she managed to say between quiet gasps at his considerate touches.

"I should be the one thankin' you."

He ran his fingers up to her collarbone, which made her back arch, the area being particularly sensitive. He smiled down at her, seeing the restrained ecstasy written plain upon her face and rather enjoying turning her limbs to jelly. _There's somethin' in this foreplay lark after all._

"What d'you want me to do now?" he asked, leaning over her, keeping his breath steady as hers fluctuated.

She gulped as she opened her eyes again, tracing all the features of his face.

"I want you to kiss me," she said, breath shuddering slightly. "Slowly at first, then just fall into it."

"Not a problem," he replied, his hands slipping back down her body and clasping onto her hips as he kissed her, just the way she had asked. Her hand clung to the back of his neck, letting out a muffled moan as the kiss naturally deepened, and his heart hammered within his chest, one hand rising to cup a breast. He was buggered if he could keep away.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, her chest heaving and her head feeling absolutely delirious. She wouldn't have been able to give a coherent answer if he asked her again what she wanted from him, and so was glad when instead he started to plant small, hot kisses down her body, between the valley of her breasts to her stomach, the tenderness of his lips making her squirm and almost lose her breath.

He stopped short of trailing his mouth any further, which pulled her up in disappointment, but then his hand dipped, playing with the nest of dark curls between her legs. She gasped sharply, letting his name tumble from her lips, and didn't hesitate in parting her thighs with only a little of his assistance. He recognised what she was doing, smirking when he discovered how brazen she was.

"Dirty mare," he murmured hoarsely, stroking over her folds, slick with desire and aching with pure need.

She'd kept the thought of his fingers at the back of her mind since they'd been sitting together at their usual spot in Luigi's, and she shivered intensely to discover how good they felt, touching her so reverently and intimately.

"How long 'ave you been like this?" he teased more, massaging her own moisture over her.

"All night," she panted, moving her thighs yet wider apart, glancing down for a moment to watch the caress of his fingers against her. It was hardly a lie, but she decided to be truly candid with him, especially now this was actually going to happen. "I only need to think of you, Gene."

"Good girl," he smirked, letting his fingertips glide with a tantalising feather-light touch. "Though I dunno how I'm goin' to concentrate on anythin' again, knowin' 'ow randy you get for me."

"Mmmm," she whined in response, with a touch of frustration, as amazing as it felt. "Just a little..."

Her own hand ghosted down her body, brushing with his and guiding him along to where she really needed the friction. It took only a couple of seconds for him to oblige.

"There...yes! Oh, god..."

She ground her hips against his hand, her breath catching in her throat as he rubbed circles lazily over the swollen bundle of nerves. He increased the pressure a little, and all of her senses collided when he slipped a finger inside her while his thumb simultaneously pressed to her clit.

"Gene!" she cried out, "Oh yes..."

He worked in a steady rhythm, his lips hot on her neck as he added another finger. He couldn't quite believe how wet she was, and it was all for him.

"God, Alex, you feel bloody brilliant."

His voice close in her ear and his fingers buried in her were proving to be her undoing, and the deeper he went the further she was to tumbling from the edge completely. He curled up on the outward pull, brushing his thumb over her clit, and she fell to pieces, crying his name as he made her come.

As he extricated slowly, curling next to her trembling form, he was stunned. He'd just made Alex Drake come, and judging by the pink flush of her skin and the way she was holding one hand to her forehead, it had been one hell of an orgasm. _Fuckin' hell, this can't be happenin'._

He touched her side lightly as he lay next to her, feeling the aftershocks for himself. "Alex. Bolly. It's alright."

She turned her face on the pillow to gaze at him, her breath regulating to a normal level, her eyes glazed.

"Jesus Christ," she sighed, her nerve endings still on fire.

"Not quite," he replied with a smirk. "Though you did call me 'God' so much that I did start to wonder."

She smiled faintly, her thumb edging the curve of his lightly-stubbled jaw. "You're very good with your hands."

"You believe me now," he chuckled, still cresting the wave of what he'd achieved, not sure whether he'd feel as euphoric if he'd scored the winner at Maine Road. "I'm very good with other things too."

He drew her attention to the straining erection between his legs. He hadn't been this hard before, and he was starting to wonder whether it would have a damaging effect if it persisted unseen to much longer.

Alex let out a wisp of a laugh which quickly ceased when she brushed her lips to his, nibbling lightly on his bottom lip that was so frequently set into a pout.

"I did promise to return the favour," she breathed huskily.

She pressed her mouth to his shoulder while her hand wandered downwards, her eyes firm upon him as she grazed her fingernails past his stomach and into the coarse hair.

"Bolly...fuckin' _Jesus_."

The smile burst upon her lips as she watched his head fall back, eyes shutting and mouth contorting in response to her touch. She'd lost count of the amount of times she'd contemplated this, usually in the midst of a blazing argument when he bawled and roared at her, knowing precisely what she would be able to do to break him down and cause him to surrender.

The sound of his strangled groans delighted her as she worked her palm up and down his cock, somewhat astounded by how hot and hard and heavy he was. She let her fingers caress the underside of the shaft gently, feeling him twitch against her, and then gripped a little harder when she was back at the root.

He didn't dare to open his eyes, lest he discovered that it was all an illusion and Bolly didn't actually have her hand wrapped around his todger, driving him bloody wild with the pressure and the silkiness of her fingertips. Otherwise he'd open them and see a thousand or more stars collide into his vision.

She released him suddenly, causing him to inhale at the loss of contact, and then her fingers moved – and, _bleedin' hellfire._

"What d'you think...oh, Jesus bloody Christ, Bols..."

It had always been a no-go with him; he didn't let a bird anywhere near his balls. But it appeared that he was powerless to resist Bollykecks in whatever crazy idea she got into her head, and it actually felt rather ruddy fantastic. She cupped and rolled in a way that sent electricity shooting straight up his spine, trailing her nails along the hidden sensitive skin beneath, and alternated between his balls and cock so that he was firmly on his toes and nearly bouncing off the walls.

Alex sighed along with Gene, though the sounds that left her were lighter. Her thumb glided over his tip, delicately spreading the droplets of liquid that had emerged. With her hand still in place she got onto her knees, shifting her head down the bed.

His large hand scrunched tightly against her scalp, pulling her back from what she had intended.

"Don't you bloody dare, Drake."

The rough curtness of his tone shocked her momentarily, the use of her surname rather than any pet name putting her back into the office and in her place.

His eyes were softer as he gazed down at her, his cheeks hued with pink.

"I'll be done for the night if you let those lips of yours loose on Sergeant Rock," he went on, his voice laboured. "Can't 'ave that, can we?"

She gasped as he sprung into action, giggling as he caught her with ease, flipping their positions. Her breathing grew unsteady as he loomed over her, everything about him untamed and reckless other than the gentle glint buried deep within his gaze.

"Where's that johnny got to?" he enquired gruffly, hands scrabbling upon the sheets until he located the shining packet he was after.

Alex remained reclined on the bed, watching with eager eyes as his fingers rolled, sheathing himself. Her heart was like thunder in her chest, a force of nature quite separate from herself, overtaking her being completely.

Gene took a deep breath, gazing down at Bolly's gloriously naked form waiting before him. If he believed in all that guff then he'd put this at the very moment that the world stopped spinning and everything held perfectly still. In the back of his mind, he was reconsidering things, feeling as though the fabric of time might just have shifted.

"Lift your legs up, love."

He positioned himself at the foot of the bed, hoping and praying that his knees wouldn't give out at the crucial moment, both hands stroking at the back of and inside her thighs.

God, she was going to vanish into thin air if he kept her waiting a second longer.

"Gene," she breathed, "I need you. _Please."_

The catch in her voice pushed him over the edge, sent him spiralling head-first into oblivion. His tip teased at her slick entrance, and he felt her rasp of desire in his bones as he pushed into her, making sure to go carefully.

"Oh god, Gene! Yes..."

It took a mammoth effort not to plunge himself into her and thrust hard. The unfurling bliss written upon her face was more than enough incentive to continue on as he was doing; he wanted to hold her expression in his mind forever, gaze upon it whenever he felt like the world was falling apart at the seams.

He withdrew slowly, then slid back into her just a little bit more, his arms held against the bed and his eyes pinned to her.

Alex flexed her hips desperately, attempting to urge him on. He felt so unbelievably wonderful inside of her and he wasn't even fully there yet; she wasn't quite sure how she would cope with all of him, but she craved him with every breath.

"For God's sake, Gene!" she moaned in half-frustration, half utter delight at his teasing.

He smirked down at her. "You were the one who wanted to go slowly, Bols."

She huffed out a breath, raising her legs yet higher. "We've waited long enough. Just have me." Her eyes bore into his, flame meeting flame, dancing together in the searing heat. " _Fuck me_ , Gene."

Those words sent another pulse down him. He'd had her pinned from day one; with all her fancy words and everything else, at heart she was a right dirty mare.

He seared forwards, sheathing himself within her warm and welcoming velvet. She let out a high-pitched moan that made his balls tingle. Leaning his body further onto hers, he claimed her mouth in a tender kiss as he held still, giving her a few moments to become accommodated to his size. Her hips started to writhe against his and the kiss grew fiercer on instinct. As he thrust into her they had to cease the contact of their lips, Alex's cries unable to be restrained.

"Gene...oh god," she moaned with abandon, her hips and back arching off the bed as she held onto him as her anchor. "Harder...yes, don't stop...don't dare stop..."

He followed her lead, doubling his efforts as sweat began to bead on his forehead. Bolly's body was glistening, her tits shuddering, her legs wrapped about his middle like a bloody vice. Her eyes were closed in rapture, her mouth shaped in a perfect 'o' as she continued to give voice to her pleasure. He held back his own grunts of ecstasy with some trouble, his hands running over her dips and curves while he kept thrusting, didn't stop for a second.

Somewhere deep in his heart, he needed this from her.

"Alex," he pleaded, "open your eyes. Look at me."

Shards of green mixed with melted amber gazed up into those of silvery steel-blue, the axis ceasing for the smallest moment. Alex breathed slowly, a whimper leaving her as she looked into Gene's face, the lines and creases there fading to nothing. He was real, completely so, or otherwise the realest dream she had ever known.

After the brief respite he picked up the pace again, though it didn't take long at all. Her walls clenched and contracted around him, holding him firm in place, and she met her climax with an earth-shattering cry, feeling like she'd been drowned in sunlight. He gave her time to recover from the blissful high that had her thighs shaking and feeling slightly sore and then thrust up into her, causing aftershocks to tear through her body as he chased his own release, letting himself go with a bellowing roar.

She waited a few seconds for her breathing to regulate, her heart to settle back within her ribcage, and relished Gene's weight covering her body. She was quite sure he wasn't the cuddling type so she would settle for this kind of closeness, not considering it to be any less. He rolled off her at the opportune moment, lying next to her with the red satin cooling their limbs and his steady breaths a soothing sound to her ears. After a couple of minutes he stretched and clambered up, announcing that he needed the loo, and she had to laugh to herself about the bluntness of it all.

For their first time, the routine afterwards had a strange familiarity.

Alex watched from the bed, halo of curls surrounding her on the pillow, as he stalked back into the room, weaving in and out of the shadows. He hadn't covered up, the couldn't-give-a-fuck attitude firmly back in place, and above the sheets her still-hungry gaze admired him, from the long legs to the paunch that she didn't find unattractive – it was, in fact, rather endearing - all the way up to his broad shoulders.

"I suppose you'll be on your way, then," she murmured as he leaned down again.

Her own eyes had hazed over, despite her telling herself that all this didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, and for a second she imagined she saw a flash of hurt appear in his.

"Some high opinion you 'ave of me, Bolly. I give you one and then you expect me to disappear into the night, like some shaggin' superhero."

His typically expressive turn of phrase made her laugh. He slipped one leg back into the bed, his foot brushing against her calf.

"You're nearer to the station," he affirmed once he had settled back down.

 _He was just being practical. Better than nothing, really, and it would benefit them both to take that view on things._

"Last time I checked there was a change of clothes 'ere, so nobody will be any the wiser. Not like there's many brain cells to club together between the lot of 'em."

"Of course."

She was well aware of the few shirts and the suit that hung at the back of the wardrobe, inconspicuously matching up to Gene's measurements. After the horror of the explosion which had put an end to the lives of Tim and Caroline Price, which seemed to have been more painful this time around when she was emotionally mature enough to consider its awfulness, she had plucked one of the shirts out and wrapped it round her frame, letting it cloak her as she cried herself to sleep. Thankfully she had washed the item since, so there was no danger of him smelling her scent all over it and jumping to the wrong conclusions.

His eyes glinted in the shade of the room, the only light spilling through the crack in the curtains coming from the street outside.

" 'sides, this bed of yours is very comfortable."

"Well, I wouldn't object too much," she smiled slowly, nestling down beneath the covers and in the space he left vacant.

"You 'aven't got much of a say in the matter, Bols."

She turned her face to the stream of light with Gene's bulk behind her, feeling a certain sense of peace come over her. Seconds moved to minutes and as they did the idea took greater hold in her brain.

"A month...that wouldn't be long enough for anything to _really_ happen."

She mustn't have been aware that she had said the words out loud, or otherwise she believed that he had succumbed to sleep. He didn't know why but he felt a pang in the centre of his chest. _She'd fulfilled her curiosity, and he'd done the same. Why should he be bothered if she was dismissing a longer prospect?_

"Didn't quite catch that, Bolly."

Alex turned round to face him again, her cheeks flushing as she'd been caught out. He had an interrogative look in his eyes, the kind he usually reserved for those under suspicion.

"I think we've got a better chance of being successful in this if we have an incentive. Something to take our minds off the possibility of temptation." His eyebrows had raised almost to the top of his head; he may have been acting the part but there was no chance that he had missed her meaning. "Or at least, indulge in another kind of temptation."

She felt the patch of skin above her chest glowing pink, the room still rather stuffy and Gene's heated gaze upon her doing nothing to help matters.

"The rest of the month," she went onto confirm the notion. "Nobody needs to know, and if it helps us to win out then it can't do any harm to keep it up."

" I've got no problem when it comes to that," he uttered, holding the bedcovers aloft, though she already suspected as much. He was semi-erect again, and took to proving the point by hooking his leg over hers, prodding her in the stomach.

 _Good lord, he's about as subtle as a punch in the face. Then again, you could just take it as a compliment._

She smiled seductively at him, trying her best to seem unaffected by his obvious arousal, although the sparks of anticipation were already racing around her body.

"Up for round two, then, Bolly?" Gene enquired, drawing himself over her. "And more besides?"

"That depends on one condition," she replied, gazing up at him as she made herself more comfortable.

The smirk on his face moved into a small frown. "And that is...?"

She paused for a moment before she said it, seeing no harm in keeping him dangling.

"That you let me buy you some boxer shorts."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: And so the smuttiness continues - well, the title is there for a reason... ;) Hope you enjoy, and I'd love to know what you think - don't be shy! These two certainly aren't...**

* * *

Chapter 3

The thought had been on her mind since morning, so persistent that it had transformed from a mental longing into a physical ache, and she could use none of her self-taught distraction techniques any more. It struck her as quite naughty, especially whilst at work, but there were worse things to be caught doing, if indeed that should be the outcome. Anyway, the fact that she bloody well deserved to indulge herself outweighed the possible consequences. This new case was proving a tough one to crack and she'd had a fitful night of sleep, scraping probably three hours in total. She had been so good all day, tamping down the fantasies when they had danced around her head persistently. Now it was time for action. A mischievous smile pulled at her lips, nerves tingling at the prospect.

The main issue was making her way through in plain sight, though nobody appeared to bat an eyelid at her movements. _Really could have done this much sooner. Never mind, it'll be all the sweeter given that you've been waiting patiently, holding yourself back._ Once she sneaked behind the door, closing it without a sound behind her, then the fun could begin. Everything was up for grabs, quite literally, her eyes widening and her mouth going temporarily dry at the sight before her.

So many options, she was left bewildered for a few moments. The others could be saved for later, but right now she was after the most instant gratification. Taking hold of her senses again, her hand delved lower and deeper, fingers trembling with her raw need, until she finally had a firm grasp on what she was after.

She couldn't help herself, the hum of satisfaction escaping her as she let her tongue slide over slowly. She tried her utmost to keep quiet, but some things you just had to give yourself over to.

And a chocolate digestive was most certainly one of them.

"Mmmm."

That hit the spot, one hundred per cent. Alex noticed how her taste-buds had sharpened, the dark chocolate richer on the tip of her tongue. Amazing really, in the space of a week. The full packet was still in her hand and she hesitated for all of a few seconds before she reached in for another. She'd been greedy with the first, devouring it hastily. Leaning back against the worktop in the little kitchen she resolved to take her time with this one, nibbling the edge slowly and letting the crumbs melt to nothing in her mouth. Going the whole hog, she closed her eyes for the full sensory experience, her whole body fizzing warm with the divine taste.

"You gonna keep those all to yourself, Ma'am, or can anyone else get a look in?"

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Shaz's voice. She hastily put the packet of biscuits back into the tin she'd left lying open on the worktop, feeling rather shamed when she was supposed to be setting an example, especially to the young WPC.

"That's the last, for today at least. I found that I had to give into temptation."

Shaz smiled warmly. "I wasn't having a go, Ma'am. I reckon you're more entitled to them than the rest of us." Reaching forward she took a digestive for herself, plucked between bright blue nails. "Just so long as you steer clear of the Garibaldis. Ray's made that mistake before and the Guv wasn't very happy about it."

"I wouldn't even _dream_ about it," Alex affirmed with a smile of her own.

Those things were revolting anyway. Questionable taste in both biscuits _and_ underwear. Gene had quite a number of faults but he made up for them in other ways. Alex fought to keep the telling smirk from her face, knowing that Shaz would be able to deduce what was going on within a matter of seconds. Female instinct, perhaps, but she had so much talent, so much promise. It broke Alex's heart to think of it going to waste, due to ridiculous and outdated views.

"You should go on strike when it comes to the tea rounds, Shaz," she gave voice to her thoughts, glimpsing a flash of the well-concealed frustration on the younger woman's face. "God knows it wouldn't kill them to pull their fingers out and muddle through for themselves."

"I don't know," Shaz replied, "I'd be worried that the Guv wouldn't know the sugar from the salt. Keeps the peace if I do it, don't it?"

Alex frowned, having known from about a half-hour or so after she'd arrived that Shaz was worth far more than everyone, including Gene, gave her credit for.

"Anyway, I don't really mind. My dad says that if you graft then you always get there in the end. I mean, even the Guv had to start somewhere." She paused for a moment, looking at Alex as she froze in the task of retrieving mugs from the cupboard. "We're all cogs in the machine, aren't we, Ma'am?"

Alex smiled at Shaz's peculiar mixture of feistiness and meek acceptance.

"Some are more invaluable than others," she remarked, hoping to boost the young woman's confidence. "I'm telling you, Shaz, one day they'll all wake up and realise just how important you are, and it can't come quickly enough. We'd be lost without you."

Shaz fidgeted, clunking the handles on a couple of the mugs as her hands fumbled.

"It could have come a lot sooner than I'd liked," her voice shook slightly as she heaped out the spoonfuls of sugar, "if it hadn't been for you, Ma'am."

The horrible shiver snaked down Alex's spine as she recalled that night, how everything had happened so fast. Shaz's blood on her hands, Shaz's breath shivering in the freezing air as it left her rapidly, the others bawling and brawling while she fought to save Shaz from her injuries. She still had no idea how she managed to revive the girl; perhaps it was the thought of Molly suffering the same fate that drove her on. Her daughter and her younger colleague were alike in so many ways. It was probably why she harboured such fondness for Shaz.

"It was...it was the only thing I could do," she uttered, feeling rather shaken herself. "You fought for yourself, I only helped you along."

"You saved my life," Shaz affirmed with more conviction. "And I'll always be grateful. If there was anything I could do, any favour or wish I could grant you, then I would. In a heartbeat."

Alex dropped her gaze from the younger woman. _Oh, Shaz. I wish there was something you could do, but there's nothing. Whatever test I have to face or task I have to complete to get back to where I need to be, I must do it myself._ She couldn't bear to disappoint, so she lifted her head and painted on a hopeful smile to placate her colleague.

"You will get there, Shaz. I think you'll make DI in no time at all."

Shaz's mouth hung open in shock. "Oh no, Ma'am. I don't know if I'm cut out for _that_."

"Of course you are," Alex replied brightly, helping to spread out the mugs upon the surface and then dishing a pile of assorted biscuits out onto a couple of plates. "I mean, I suppose that things had moved on by the time I made rank, but it wasn't really that different. That glass ceiling feels like it will never shatter, even if it takes to 2038."

She felt Shaz's eyes on her, her gaze slightly perplexed. _Damn, slipped up again. Must remember where I am, you wouldn't think it would be that difficult._

"Anyway," she exhaled, shrinking back against the worktop, "you can get to as far as where you want to be. The force _is_ changing, as is the world. Ten years ago how many people would have thought that there'd be a female Prime Minister?"

Shaz's nose wrinkled. "If we're going to bring _her_ into it, then I think I'd rather stick to making tea and typing for the rest of my life."

Alex laughed. It was true, Maggie hadn't done the movement any favours, and it was another area in which she was glad she had some solidarity.

"I meant to say, I think your hair looks lovely."

"Oh, thank you, Shaz." She patted the ends into place where they rested just on her shoulders, still getting used to the feathered waves rather than the corkscrew perm that she'd had little say in. If she was going to be staying for a little longer than she had anticipated then it was time she started using some agency. "It was a bit of a whim, really. But I thought, well, why not?"

She recalled the night following her trip to the hairdressers', feeling slightly more vulnerable and uncertain. Gene had fixed her with a stare, then a smirk, saying it would be like having it off with a completely different bird. She had laughed and then shivered as his hand trailed from her neck to her collarbone, quickly replaced with his lips, grip seizing firmly upon her waist. Nothing about that night had turned out to be different, except that perhaps it was filled with even more electricity and exhilarating ecstasy.

She pulled herself out of the daydream as Shaz continued to scrutinise her appearance with a soft smile on her face.

"I think not drinking suits you. You look ever so well, Ma'am," Shaz grinned, her eyes shining. "Like you're glowing."

Alex flustered for a moment, wondering if it was really that obvious. _It couldn't possibly be, it's just in your mind. Which is a very dangerous place to be right now._

"Thank you, Shaz. I'm glad to know it's doing something good."

Behind them the kettle squealed, signalling that it had boiled, and the shrill sound unsettled Alex further.

"I'll take your cuppa through, shall I?"

"No, I can do it," Alex replied, "you have enough to deal with."

Shaz smiled gratefully towards her. "You deserve another digestive for that."

Despite the WPC's grace, Alex refrained, banging the lid tight back onto the biscuit tin. She needed to show restraint somewhere. Chocolate would be her usual fallback, she supposed. That or going for a run, which was the preferable option. Shagging hadn't really been on the agenda in 2008. Not regular shagging, at any rate, and definitely not shagging her DCI. That would have been a weird one considering her DCI then was pushing sixty five, not to mention the damage it would do to her career. Here, it didn't matter; she was only passing through, after all, and it wouldn't go down on her record. It didn't make her any less of a feminist to be sleeping with her superior. Which was somewhat ironic, considering Gene's world-view. Truth be told, she found it all rather liberating; to do what she chose to, without care for any consequences. There were some up sides to being part of this world, as it turned out.

She was maintaining distance; even if this world was only temporal, she realised there were still certain rules to play by. Though they hadn't gone a night without since that first somewhat unplanned encounter, he didn't stay every time and that was down to her insistence. But she hadn't failed to notice the difference in her state of mind when he wasn't there, snoring as he slept like a log beside her. On those nights she was restless, prone to nightmares and strange delusions. The terrible dreams where she had forgotten Molly, or Molly didn't remember her due to her being away too long. The one that made her blood run to ice in her veins, whereby her father – dressed as that clown that frightened the wits out of her – had his unknown granddaughter in his clutches, tying explosives to her wrists and ankles. _It didn't need to be this way, Alex. If only you had stayed with us in the first place..._

She was never visited by such visions when Gene stayed with her. One morning she had woken to find that she had slept nestled into his chest, her hand circled in his; just how her younger self had clung onto him when he had sheltered her from the blast. How he must have done, though she had always sworn blind that it had been Evan who had rescued her so heroically until a few months ago when she had witnessed the truth for herself.

Cup of tea long drained, she got out from behind her desk and took her place back in front of the evidence board - which currently didn't contain a whole lot of evidence. A small sigh left her lips as she held the marker pen between her fingers, tilting her head to the side. Every now and then she directed her gaze to looking through the half-open blinds, seeing Gene with his legs draped across the desk, hands rifling through his hair at intervals. For God's sake, she really could do with a bit of back-up, but it didn't seem like he had plans to move any time soon. So she just had to steer this thing herself.

"Okay, so we have what appears to be a straightforward robbery on a street-corner newsagent," she repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time, "except until one of the robbers is found dead two streets down."

She paced the floor back and forth, aware of CID's blank stares towards her.

"Now, we have to think," she said, tapping her temple to reinforce her point. "Could be a tormented victim, out for revenge. But it seems unlikely; most victims are typically too traumatised to take any movement forward for considerable time, or otherwise act as normal, as if nothing traumatising has happened to them."

She was currently stuck between those two points herself, and still had to figure out what she needed to achieve to transcend; to get back to where she needed to be.

"It's much more likely to be another member of the gang. Perhaps even someone who was kept on the sidelines. So, what could the motive be?"

"Drugs," Ray put forward plainly, folding his arms as he reclined in his chair. "There were traces of everything short of washing powder in 'is bloodstream. Probably all the others were off their faces as well, 'ad some sort of scrap over who got the biggest cut. Typical wasters; I don't even know why we're bothering investigating it. Good bloody riddance, I say."

"Waster or not, he was somebody's son. Someone's pride and joy." She had to fight to stop her voice from wavering, turning her back to the rest of CID for a moment or two as she composed herself. "Besides, we don't have any evidence that drugs were the motivation for this particular raid."

Ray shrugged his shoulders with exaggerated effect. "Well, I'll keep me gob shut in future then. Just don't say I didn't try."

Somewhat selfishly she hoped to God that a stash of drugs didn't turn up somewhere along the line in the investigation. She could bear a lot of things but she wasn't sure that she could take DS Carling's smug face as he inched close towards her, grinning widely as he gloated ' _I told you so_ '.

With a silence descended, Chris reluctantly raised his hand in the air. The sheepish action made Alex smile to herself.

"Yes, Chris?"

"Err...well, maybe it was somethin' to do with what was goin' on between them. Like, the relationships in the gang."

Alex smiled, pleased that he'd hit upon the line of thinking that seemed strongest to her at the current moment. "Internal politics. Power struggles. All that testosterone flying about, something's bound to snap sooner or later."

"Er, yeah, Ma'am. Maybe 'e thought 'e could take over. Be the top cheese, or the big dog."

Ray interrupted Chris's flow by letting out a gale of laughter. "You've got it the wrong way round, you twonk."

Chris sunk down into his chair, his cheeks flushing. "It's just a thought, anyway."

"And it's a very good one, Chris," Alex exclaimed. "I think you might have just hit the nail square on the head."

DC Skelton straightened his frame once more, his smile turning broader by the second. "Thanks, Ma'am."

"So we need to get files on all of the current Blackhill gang members, any previous ones and anyone who could be deemed to be a potential recruit."

"Tomorrow, that is," Ray spoke up again. "Don't know if you've noticed what with your current predicament, but it's approaching beer o'clock for the rest of us."

Alex looked towards the wonkily-positioned clock on the other side of the room and saw for herself that it was indeed only a couple of minutes until six. Funny, she would have put it at three at the very latest. Maybe the days were longer with the absence of alcohol.

As if on cue, hearing the use of his sacred phrase fall from the lips of another, Gene emerged from where he had burrowed himself away unseen by anyone for nearly the entire day.

"Right, so as far as I can see you've all been about as much use as a chocolate teapot complete with a full set of bloody cups and saucers!"

Alex turned her head, catching his fiery gaze for a moment or two and seeing it slowly simmer down.

"Best to get off and do what you all excel at for the night. Leave it to my good self and Bollykecks to do the legwork, as usual."

As they all got up from their seats, reaching for their jackets, Chris's lone voice stood out.

"Don't suppose you'll be paying for a round, Guv?"

Gene's stare turned distinctly stony. "Don't push your luck, Christopher. Not until any of you make some bleedin' ground on this case."

"Fair enough, Guv," Chris replied quietly, following the others as they slunk away for another night.

Though CID had been left deserted, Alex followed him inside his office. They hadn't spent any time together that day aside from paying a visit to the murder scene to suss things out, and she missed his company. Something she wouldn't have dared to admit months ago but they'd grown so much closer and now she could hardly imagine being without him for longer than was necessary.

"Smells much better in here now," she observed, impressed by the absence of a fog of smoke.

"Not much point interferin' when my natural aroma's so good," he remarked, making himself comfortable in the chair again. "And I know exactly what it does to yer, Bolly."

She broke gaze with him, glancing down to the floor as she pursed her lips, and he couldn't help feeling victorious. _One nil to Hunt_. Though he was only fooling himself, as she'd been scoring past him all day. The net had been left wide open with not the least bit of defence.

He didn't know how he'd managed to stand, never mind make it out of the door, and he'd kept himself squirreled away on purpose else he knew that he'd never bloody live it down, with the self-satisfied look on her face being the worst of it all. When the pressure in his trousers had been a little less he had looked out at her from the window, seeing her wiggling her arse around the place as she rabbited on, no doubt about some utter-bollocks theory, looking delectable as she did so. A bit later on she'd been back at her desk, poring over some files, twirling a pencil about and brushing it against her plump lips. He'd groaned, cursing the name Bollykecks in his head and retreated back to the safety of his desk.

It was bloody torture – not to mention surely physically impossible – being so permanently horny, his mind occupied with her and all the things they had got up to over the past week. She'd have something smart-arsed to say about that, whatever rubbish it was about the specific way in which the brain worked. He just thought she was downright sexy, plain and simple. The thought of her plummy voice going into detail about stuff he didn't have the faintest idea and couldn't care less about was getting him even hotter under the collar. Buggering hell, she could take the bins out and he'd still find it arousing.

He had thought about phoning her desk to tell her about everything she was doing to him. He more than fancied the idea of talking dirty while nobody else was any the wiser, watching her squirm in her seat and hearing her trying to suppress moaning as he listed all of the things that he intended to do to her. The longer he mulled it over he'd come to the conclusion that he'd have been the one worse off, in the end. It's not like he had a change of kecks lying about to hand but he was starting to think that he could do with being prepared in future.

Still couldn't get used to them; the things he was prepared to do to keep her happy. His knackers were squashed so tightly together that he was seriously panicking that they'd be forever altered.

"These things don't 'alf bleedin' itch." He shifted, failing to be surreptitious. "You sure you 'aven't given me the clap, Bols?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Third stage VD, Guv. It's really quite serious."

He caught sight of her expression and breathed an internal sigh of relief. "Believed yer for a minute there."

The smile grew on her face, and he was frankly baffled. She seemed to quite like it when he implied that she was a tart, when so often before the same insinuations had earned him a sharp slap in the chops. For as long as he lived and with all of the skills he'd gained he'd never work women out. And Alex Bollykecks Drake was the most puzzling of them all.

She leaned forwards towards him, both hands placed on the surface of the desk.

"So, you're coping much better then?"

At that moment she could have been speaking Hindustani for all he knew; his attentions were somewhere else, namely on the billowing at the front of her blouse as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Sorry, Bolly, you say somethin'?"

He managed to tear his eyes away from the view down to her cleavage and brought them to meet her own again.

"Being off the booze," she reiterated.

"Can handle anythin'," he uttered easily, "thought you knew that by now."

"Hmmm."

He watched her like a hawk as she sashayed around to the side of the desk, one sleek leg following the other.

"I don't know if I'm doing quite so well." She perched herself on the very edge, arching her body just so. "You know that the withdrawal method doesn't come highly recommended."

" _Christ_ ," he muttered under his breath. _Should have ruddy well known that something was ticking over in that head of hers._

She smiled, her eyes flicking down towards the growing bulge in his trousers. Shit, he couldn't hang on to a shred of control in front of her any more.

She straightened her back more than was really necessary, tousling a hand in her hair whilst her breasts strained against the fabric of her blouse.

"Not a single drop passing your lips, all day and all night. It must be terribly _hard_ for you..."

He tried – and failed – not to groan, the sound coming from low in his throat.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols. D'you want to go over this desk?"

His mind flashed back to sitting in the same position, pen poised idly between his fingers, doodling out the fantasy he'd had from the day she'd walked into his life. If he'd had any guts then he would have left it under of a stack of paperwork on her desk, but instead he'd hurried to rip it from where it had been pinned to the wall in the kitchenette. He still didn't know which one of the bastards had done it. Ray, quite likely, the bleeding pervert.

"Whatever you like, Guv," she purred in reply, striding back out of his reach. He hoped she had a good idea of what she was getting into here, because he wasn't sure how responsible he could be once he let go. "But there's something I owe you first."

His eyebrows lifted in intrigue and his heart began to beat faster as she undid a couple of buttons between scarlet-red fingernails.

"I've been terribly disobedient lately, wanting everything my own way. I'm surprised you've let such shameful behaviour slide."

"Shame _less_ , that's what I'd call you, Bolly."

Her eyes smiled at his growl of a reply, wriggling her hips against the sound of silence.

"Your kingdom, your rules. And I intend to play by them." She turned on the spot, smirking at him over her shoulder. "All you need to do is sit back and enjoy the show."

As she started on her striptease before his eyes – and the display being all for him – he willed the pounding of his heart to slow down; there wasn't much he could do about what was happening further south so he decided to surrender to that. But no, his great efforts to think and breathe more evenly were having zero effect. Not even shouting at himself to get a grip worked. Jesus, this really was the end. But there were much worse ways to cop it, he reasoned.

Her blouse was off and his eyes were on stalks; she had one of those push-up bras on, not like she needed them with those magnificent tits.

"Always thought red was your colour, Bols."

She flashed her best seductive smile, her hands trailing down her curves and past her toned stomach until she settled on the waistband of her pencil skirt, taking off the leather belt deliberately slowly.

There was no question about it; she was all of his wildest dreams-come-true wrapped up in one gloriously nutty package. His mouth went dry as he watched her shimmy out of the skirt, exposing a suspender belt and stockings. She'd clearly dressed for his benefit and if this was the outcome of her being a mouthy cow then he was more than willing to put up with it for this kind of pay-off. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, bringing all of the fantasies he'd had about her in his office together in his mind. Propped up against the desk as she gave him the best hand-job he'd ever had. On her knees beneath the desk while he reclined in his seat, enjoying her attentions so much that he nearly fell back. Opening them again the thought occurred to him that he'd probably never be able to look at her again without recalling this very moment and ending up with a raging hard-on.

Her frame had dipped, her fingers poised to unclip the fastenings holding up the silky stockings.

"Leave 'em on," he urged gruffly, his breathing heavy as his gaze raked greedily over her.

She smiled wickedly, eyes wide and innocent but they were the only things that were about her.

"Whatever you say, Guv."

He wriggled in his seat as she brought her hands back up higher, pulling a strap down one shoulder followed leisurely by the other, until the cherry-red bra was discarded to the floor. She started to stroke over her bare breasts, fingers teasing at her nipples, and he felt as though he was burning up completely. The strain was so intense that he ached to take himself in hand in front of her and give her a show of his own. But something told him that if he held out a little longer he'd be in for one hell of a treat, so he prised his hand away from his crotch and instead stood up on legs that were shaking only ever so slightly.

She was prancing about, still with the absence of any music playing, a glint in her eyes that was verging on the impertinent. Stepping once towards her he seized both of her wrists, hearing the catch of breath in her throat as she complied.

"Turn around."

She did so without a word of protest, his gaze trailing the slope of her back down to the knickers that were sheer at the back and afforded a wonderful view of her arse cheeks. He released his grip on her, though she kept her hands in place behind her back, waiting for him to take charge or do whatever he would.

Slowly he moved his hands up her sides, feeling her shiver at the brush of his fingertips upon her skin. He nuzzled against the warm skin of her neck, nipping lightly with his mouth when she remained still, apparently determined not to give in to her own pleasure. His hands couldn't stay aimless for long and he placed one over each breast, treating himself to a good grope.

That was what did the trick for her as well; she whimpered softly while he fondled them, pushing more forcefully into his palms.

"Things you do to me, Alex," he groaned into her ear, thumbs running circles over the peaks of her nipples, "you drive a bloke to ruddy destruction."

Once he finished his statement she jutted back against him, her arse rubbing purposefully against his groin. An especially apt swear word fell from his lips and he circled an arm about her waist, holding her tighter in place.

"I can tell exactly what I do to you, Guv," she rasped, her hips wiggling as much she was able with his arm clamped against her. "You can find out what you do to me too, if you like."

Well, that was an offer he couldn't pass up.

One hand cascaded down her body, slipping into the front of her knickers. He bit back a groan as his fingers met slickness, losing himself in the sensation of her but also thrilling to know that she was as turned on by this scenario as he was.

"You're a filthy mare," he murmured as he let his fingers dip against her, hearing her breathe hard and arch her head backwards, "you know that, don't you?"

She nodded, her head lolling against his shoulder. "Yes, Guv. Completely and utterly filthy...oh, Jesus!"

He chuckled as she finally gave in, moaning at his ministrations. He had to wonder if she'd been feeling the same as he had all day, crossing her legs whilst she had something akin to the flow of the Thames down there. He flexed a couple more times before extricating, hearing her huff in disappointment.

"Think it's time for you to go over the desk, Bolly."

She obliged eagerly, and he hoped to whatever higher power existed that it wasn't a dream, or if it was that he wouldn't wake up at the crucial moment.

He appraised the sight for a few moments, of her in nothing but knickers, stockings and suspenders and heels, probably to give her some sort of stability. It'd live in his memory forever and make him very happy indeed when he was an old git who was well past it.

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve this, but God knows he wasn't going to complain about it.

"Quick as you like," he ordered, pulling himself back from the reverie and giving her knicker-covered arse a light slap. "This stiffy's not goin' to be around forever."

That was a bleeding great lie. He'd been walking around with at least a semi ever since he'd met her, and now they were at it he could only envision the situation getting worse – or otherwise better.

"I wouldn't want to keep you waiting, Guv," she uttered in the sexiest, most sultry voice he'd ever heard.

He watched keenly, his whole lower half throbbing as she bent over, wiggling out of those fancy lace knickers, her perfect peachy arse exposed. Hypnotised by her for a few long moments, hardly believing that she was leaning upon his desk naked and waiting, he gave a grunt of approval at her form and undid his trousers as quick as he was able, relieved to finally be free of the boxer shorts that had been constricting him all day.

His hands ran over her arse as he steadied himself by the edge of the desk, making sure he absorbed as much of this as he could because part of him didn't think he'd last a minute, though he'd do his bloody best to hold out for her sake. He was already almost done for with the sound she made when he pushed into her. His hands settled upon her waist, not quite mirroring what he'd long imagined, and began to thrust, his eyes closing again for the first few seconds.

He took it slowly at first, glancing down to see the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her. It wasn't as long as he'd hoped before instinct and primal need took over and the pace quickened. If her shouts and cries were anything to go by then she didn't mind in the slightest, and was even urging him on.

"Oh god, Gene." Her moans cut through the fuzz in his head, each new one making him feel like a living legend. "Please, harder...oh, God, yes!"

She reached a higher pitch and he figured he must be doing something right, not that he had a whole lot of control over what he was doing at this point. One hand remained halfway between her hips and her arse, grasping her flesh tighter, whilst the other held onto the solidity of the desk. Her arms were sprawled out flat on the surface, her body slamming against the sturdy object as he continued to do what she bid him. His limbs were beginning to tingle with a greater intensity and he could feel the tell-tale tightness swelling in his stomach and around his balls.

"Oh Gene...oh, fuck," she gasped.

Jesus, he was inching ever closer, and too soon; he needed her to get there first.

"Come for me, Alex," he growled, moving his hand round to stroke against her lower stomach.

"I'm close...oh, god."

His fingers dipped, slightly clumsy because he couldn't fucking see what he was doing. He fumbled against her curls, stroked upwards and pinched a little. _Shit, hadn't meant to do that._

And then she let out a screech.

"God, Gene, yesssss!"

 _Fuck me, that worked_. _Must remember for next time._

Her squeal of delight was followed by a long, low moan, her body going rigid and then relaxing against the desk. He drank in the sight of her, well-shagged and blissed out, and felt a surge of pride running through him. He gave her a few moments to recover, and then felt relieved when she raised herself on her elbows, aware that he was still hard inside her.

She was as cheeky to glance over her shoulder, the hazy look of euphoria in her eyes.

"What are you waiting for, Guv?" she murmured. "Finish what you started."

He didn't need telling twice, picking up the rhythm again and thrusting hard into her. She started moaning again, not just for his benefit, and it only increased the pleasure that was searing through his veins. Could he really make her come twice in such quick succession? He put his hand back in place, rubbing over her, and relished in the way she was panting and writhing. Jesus, she felt incredible, better than anything he'd ever known.

It didn't take long, a couple of hard thrusts, and then he spilled into her, one hand still welded to the desk to ground him. His orgasm as well as his eager fingers had triggered her second, all of his pent-up tension soothed by her new cries of ecstasy.

The office and the entire world could have fallen away into starlight before them, and they wouldn't have noticed.

She was draped there for minutes after he'd eased out of her, looking like some arty-farty sculpture with the way she was stuck still, the only sign of life coming with her regular huffs of breath.

"Up you get, Bolly. Viv'll get the shock of 'is life if 'e finds you 'ere starkers in the morning."

She roused slowly with his words, slinking herself off the surface and then crouching to retrieve the red scraps of her underwear from the floor before standing again to step into the knickers, heels still in place. He felt like a right bastard for how it had played out; all he'd had to do was pull his trousers up from round his ankles whilst Bolly looked entirely immodest. _You're a selfish fucking prick, Hunt, even if she did set the game running._ She deserved better than to be treated like some ragdoll, there for his own gratification. She was a lady – despite the absence of any la-di-da titles, she could have made one up and he would have believed she owned it – and he'd treat her just so, though he hardly had any experience with posh birds before she came along, other than when they turned their toffee noses up at him in the street. Sticking to his own kind was easier, but he was beginning to regret it now if this was what he had turned into.

He picked her skirt and blouse up, holding them out somewhat awkwardly and letting her use him as a prop whilst she dressed again. The appreciative smile she gave him made him feel a little better, though truth be told he was still coasting on her highs and his own and suspected he might do for a long time yet.

As she twisted the waistband of her skirt round his eyes were drawn to a sizeable pinkish-red indentation sweeping just above her stomach. _Fucking hell._ His fault entirely; he knew he was getting a bit rough, and yet he still didn't rein himself in. _Arsehole._

He brushed the fingers of one hand over the angry-looking welt, hearing her gasp and feeling her inhale a quick breath.

"Didn't hurt you, did I, Bols?"

He'd never bloody forgive himself if he had.

"No," she said, her own hand holding the skin taut for a moment or two. She smiled hazily at him, shrugging the blouse onto her shoulders. "I was being so enthusiastic that I didn't notice. And I told you to do the very opposite of stopping, anyway."

"One of us 'as gotta do what we're told."

She smirked at his remark, her eyes casting downwards. He took the opportunity to place an arm around her waist and kiss the top of her forehead as it was bowed before him, pressing his lips to her skin for longer than was really necessary.

A voice in the back of his head jeered _'nancy poof'_ at him, and he didn't deny that what he'd done apparently unthinkingly was very weird. And yet the best part of him didn't give a monkey's what anyone thought. Right in this very moment he only cared what Bolly thought.

He felt her eyes burning a bloody hole through him as he held both sides of her blouse together, fumbling with the ridiculously small buttons.

His own gaze raised to hers and stared at her intently, as if to question _'what?'_

Another hint of a smile started to form on her lips whilst he worked through the line of buttons, as if to answer _'nothing.'_

Job done, he slouched back into his chair while she perched on the inner side of the desk. The room smelt unmistakably of the two of them and of sex, and he made a mental note to check whether there was any of that foul-smelling air freshener she'd left as a 'present' when he'd been huffing like a chimney to cover their tracks.

"Christ, I need a smoke after that to get on an even keel again."

She lowered her eyelashes disapprovingly, crossing her legs tight like a school-ma'am.

"There's a whole packet of Garibaldis in the kitchen. I'll fetch you some of those instead."

He raised his head, smirking up towards where she was above him.

"Spoilin' me tonight, Bols." He stretched out his arms, placing both hands behind his head leisurely. "I could get used to this."

"Well, don't." She tipped her head down towards him, pushing her frame forwards. "Just because I'm your DI and we're shagging, it doesn't equate to me being your personal slave."

He pouted as she smirked infuriatingly at him. He much preferred it when she was screaming his name at the top of her lungs rather than being a smart-arse, wrapping him tight around that elevated little finger of hers.

"Shit."

"What?" she asked of his sudden exclamation, noticing his expression having clouded over.

"Didn't wear a johnny." It wasn't an excuse but he'd got so caught up in the moment, with her so keen to strip off in front of him, that it had been the last thing that had crossed his mind. "Should 'ave paid attention to the withdrawal method after all."

She shook her head, giggling at his worried look, thinking how uncharacteristic it was. She thought for a moment about reaching to place a reassuring hand upon his knee. "It's okay. I decided it was worth taking a leaf out of Shaz's book. Makes things a bit easier, especially on somewhat impulsive instances like this."

It took a few seconds for him to recall, and then he shifted in his seat, vaguely troubled by doing so much as thinking about it.

"No need to go into the gory details. So long as it's sorted."

She chuckled to herself. He might be making some leaps forward but some things would never be in his domain.

"You do realise that you can't keep yourself holed up in here for most of the day? It's going to look suspicious if we're not working on cases together."

He let out a huff of disagreement. "And it's goin' to look very bloody obvious if I'm walkin' round 'ere lookin' as though I've got a tentpole smuggled down me kecks."

She had to work hard to keep a straight face, the shimmer of amusement and pride at the potency of her feminine charms shining through in her eyes.

"Well, you're just going to have to control your urges and act professional, DCI Hunt."

"Easier said than done, Bolly. Sergeant Rock 'as a mind of 'is own when it comes to you wiggling about everywhere."

He supposed this was what was termed 'shitting on your own doorstep'. But he could be the epitome of professionalism – or at the very least, put on a bloody good display. Besides, the line had already been crossed and given how marvellous the sex was he wasn't really willing to backtrack for the sake of being some shining example. Bit ruddy late for that, anyway.

Her eyebrows lifted as she smiled, cocking her head towards the door. "The stationery cupboard's always an option, if things get desperate."

He nodded in approval. "Could do with an inventory."

"A very thorough one. It'll probably take days."

Their gazes had locked together in mutual understanding and shared desire. Heat started to chase its way upwards through the length of her body until it reached the apples of her cheeks, which were still rather flushed from the crescendo of her climax. Sometimes the looks they exchanged were so full of intensity and passion, even when they happened to be discussing something entirely mundane, that it felt akin to being pressed together between the sheets, and she had to remind herself to take a breath to stop herself from being utterly consumed.

"It'll be a tight fit, though."

He smirked up at her from his reclining position. "Think all the things that matter will fit perfectly well. Though I'm game for some rearrangin' if you are, Bollykecks."

She stifled another laugh, trying to imagine him going home at night and pulling a copy of the Kama Sutra out of the bedside cabinet. That'd be as likely as finding a copy of the Bible there, but it wasn't to say that he wasn't extremely proficient. There were lots of things you could know without consulting a manual, and he seemed to be acutely aware about all of them.

Her fingers drummed against the edge of the desk, wondering if she should broach this particular subject. "I know."

His eyes rolled to the ceiling. "Of course you bloody do. About what?"

"The doodle." She smiled as he began to look very sheepish indeed. "That you drew it, that is."

"Err...well...y'know," he scratched his head as he fumbled for an explanation, one that didn't make him come off as a complete and utter perv, "A bloke's got to express 'imself in other ways, at times."

"You're hiding quite the artistic talent, Guv," she teased.

He felt the embarrassment rise within him at her jibing, and he didn't appreciate it. "Well, you weren't meant to bloody well see it."

Alex frowned for a moment. "It's not healthy to keep your fantasies repressed. Sexual liberation came to the fore for a reason."

He shook his head, the dirty blonde mane flowing. "Jesus H Christ. You really never give that noggin a rest, do you? I'm surprised the steam isn't permanently comin' out of yer ears."

She leaned forward again, uncrossing her legs and widening her stance just a touch before she crossed them the other way, catching his gaze being diverted.

"I'm very glad I did get to see it," she uttered in a low tone, "because you've no idea how many times I've dreamt of the very same thing."

Her confession caught his attention, and he felt his trousers start to become tight again. Hellfire, he really didn't have any control when it came to her.

A smirk played upon her lips, her hand stroking over her throat. "And now that it's happened once, I'll need to see that it happens again and again and again, just so that I can tally it in my mind."

He couldn't help but smile back at her; he'd never known a bird to have as much stamina and as high a sex drive as he had, and it seemed like he was almost completely raring to go again.

"So long as Ray doesn't get to find out. I think it'd be insufferable for the both of us."

"The dirty sod," Gene exclaimed, "I _knew_ it was 'im."

She giggled, sliding herself off the desk. "Well, he's good for some things at least."

He slid his hand to his mouth, watching her as she moved across the room, flicking her hair and swishing her hips. Knowing that she had red knickers on underneath that skirt was sending him wild, though he reasoned that it probably would have made more sense for her to leave them off given that the night was young.

"Bolly," he uttered, noticing that she was about to head to the door, "probably better if you sit down this time."

She bit down on her bottom lip, hazel eyes going wide. "We've got files to see to, remember? The team will be expecting it after what you said before they left."

He groaned in frustration while she smiled. "Bugger that. The lazy gits need to get their arses in gear, and stop expectin' us to wipe them all the time." He got to his feet, despite feeling slightly uncomfortable for doing so. "Anyway thanks to you I've completely lost me train of thought, so I don't reckon I'll be much use until tomorrow, at least."

"A cup of tea will solve things," she remained firm. "I'll get them, and the biscuits. Just this once, though."

He was left watching her arse bob out of the room and with a dull ache in his balls. Heaving himself down into the chair again he supposed that he should have been glad to get lucky, and in such spectacular style. Rearranging some files on the top of his desk, he discovered the blank sheet on the notepad. He smirked to himself as he reached for the ballpoint pen, popping its lid off with his teeth, and his fingers started to work seemingly independent from the rest of his body as two familiar figures started to come into life.

* * *

The next morning she strode into CID, greeted by subdued faces slumped over various desks. Another heavy night, evidently, and she fought the urge to be extra chirpy just to rub their noses in it, having enjoyed the combination of some spine-tingling sex and seven hours of unbroken sleep the night before.

She passed a particularly worse-for-wear Chris and Ray, the two apparently in competition for having the worst hangover, exhaling brightly as she sifted through the stack of files atop her desk.

"Time for work, you two," she said breezily. "Ray, you take the first half of the alphabet of associates; Chris, you can have the second. That should keep you busy until lunchtime at least."

Chris turned a shade of green, whilst Ray held his hands up in surrender.

"For Christ's sake, don't mention lunch."

She sniggered to herself, passing the files into their less-than-capable hands. When she got back to her desk, a slip of paper trapped underneath the files she was working her way through caught her eye.

Turning the unidentified sheet over in her hands, she turned an incriminating shade of red. It was a good job that the boys were too incapacitated to notice, otherwise she would have had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Instead she took a deep breath, picking up the receiver and dialling as she sat down, attempting to remain as composed as possible.

"You got it then, Bols," he drawled down the line, foregoing any pleasantries.

"Gene," she whispered his name to be on the safe side, "I can't believe you just left this lying on my desk. It's filthy!"

He chuckled dirtily, the sound causing butterflies to start racing around her stomach.

"Just your style," he quipped. "You did ask to see more of me handiwork."

Well, she supposed she had got precisely what she was asking for. With one hand keeping the phone to her ear, the other hand lifted the drawing to the light as she tried to distinguish the exact coordinates of the position he had etched. She wasn't even sure she would be able to contort her body that way, and wondered vaguely whether she should get into some kind of training now.

"It's very...creative," she murmured, keeping her voice hushed even though nobody was paying any notice.

"Never mind that," he rasped, "what I want to know is, does it moisten yer gusset?"

"Gene!"

"Because it's certainly got Sergeant Rock standin' to attention, thinkin' of you like that." He paused to give her a few moments to collect herself, which were pointless in the grand scheme of things. "What's say we start that inventory a bit earlier than first intended?"

She cast her eyes to the window of his office, seeing him sitting at his desk and not needing too many guesses to think about where his other hand was resting at that moment in time.

"I think that may be a wise idea," she agreed, folding the paper and placing it into her bag, where it wouldn't be in danger of being found and pinned up somewhere. "Ten o'clock suit you, DCI Hunt?"

"Make it half nine, DI Drake," he shot back in reply. "Oh, and get yer knickers off in preparation. You can always leave them in my desk, for safe-keeping."

"That might be a problem," she said, drawing her gaze downwards. "You see, I'm not actually wearing any."

He groaned heavily into the receiver, and she bit back a giggle.

"Better make it quarter past, then. And if you're a minute late, then I'll just have to punish yer."

"I'll look forward to finding out what you've got up your sleeve, Guv."

His growl did strange and wonderful things to her. "It's not me sleeve you should be thinkin' about, Bols."

* * *

 **A/N: I couldn't resist taking on the infamous doodle! That desk would have seen some serious action, I've no doubt...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I've had a few incredibly kind reviews lately which have left me a bit shell-shocked! Thank you so much to everyone who reads, reviews, favourites or follows - it really does mean a lot to me.**

 **This chapter turned out to be super-long, whoops. I hold my hands up and admit I'm indulging myself ;)**

* * *

Chapter 4

Her hair was styled, her make-up was in place. She'd kept it simple tonight; no brightly-coloured shocks of eyeshadow, lips a dusky-pink shade rather than vibrant, heart-stopping red. The look was far more reminiscent of 2008 – or more accurately, a few years earlier than that, probably the last time she had gone to such an effort. Alex took a long, steadying breath and a gulp of water, now rather warm, from the glass tumbler, keeping her gaze focused on her reflection. At this precise moment she could have done with something much stronger to quell the jittering of nerves and the sparks niggling away in the pit of her stomach.

The silk of her dressing gown was still cool against her skin, sending goosepimples to prickle upon her arms while she stood, staring over the bed in contemplation. She had managed to narrow the choice down to two; a black number and the other off-white, distinct from one another in style. Looking at one, then the other in quick succession wasn't doing anything to persuade her a particular way. A muted smile crept onto her lips as she recalled Gene's opinion on the matter; that he would only go if she wore something slutty. Neither fit the bill precisely on that score; she had to preserve some decorum, after all, but she hoped that he would settle for satisfaction with her underwear – or lack thereof.

Time was ticking away and she was none the closer. She had become terribly indecisive in the '80s. It was getting to the point where she honestly thought she would have to resort to _eeny, meeny, miney, mo._

 _Catch a tiger by its toe. If it grumbles, let it go..._

Images flashed through her mind suddenly, making her throat tighten and hurt. The girl in front of her eyes was small, not older than four or five, and dissolving into giggles as she received tickles along her ribs and under her arms.

" _Mummy!" she laughed, squeals getting higher, wriggling against the brilliantly green grass._

Then she morphed in the next moment, sitting on the stool by the dresser, her increasingly gangly legs dangling down from the edge, looking with pleading eyes straight towards her.

"Molls," Alex whispered, her limbs freezing numb.

She seemed so real before her in the corner of the room, her smile bright. She could smell her comforting scent from here, shampoo and soap and washing powder. She needed to get closer to ascertain whether it really was her daughter and not another hopeless illusion. Why couldn't she move? She tried so hard, heaved her legs that felt as heavy as lead, breathing raggedly with the effort, and yet they stayed rooted to the spot.

" _Why can't I go with you, Mum?" she asked, her words echoing around the room. "Why don't you take me with you?"_

The tears threatened to roll down her cheeks, ruining her carefully administered eyeliner and mascara.

"You don't belong here, Molls," she returned, aware that she was speaking to someone who wasn't there, yet her heart still yearned. "I don't belong here." She breathed in too quickly, the air too much for her lungs to hold, making her temporarily light headed. "I _don't_ belong here. I have to keep focus, I have to get back. You have to help me, Molls. You'll help me, won't you?"

As she turned her head, she was gone. Her beautiful, precious daughter – or rather, the vision her mind had conjured of her. Disappeared again. Alex sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, trying to calm her speeding heart-rate and stop her head from spinning. It wasn't too late to call it off, say that she wasn't feeling well. A voice in her head told her that _there was always next year_ , and the thought that she would still be here in twelve months time caused her to grieve deeply. But there was no way out that she could see, every door and window slamming shut as she got within touching distance.

Her hand had landed on the black dress, and as she regained rational thought she decided it was good enough reasoning as any. She pulled herself to her feet, filling up with a new sense of determinism. One thing was for sure; she was never going to find her way back if she simply rolled over and admitted defeat. While she was here, she needed to live life to the full.

Perhaps it was her only escape route.

She picked up the head of the hanger, the dress trailing to the floor as she moved to the stereo. The silence made her feel uneasy, the remnants of 'Molly's' words ringing loud in her ears, and she felt terribly guilty for drowning them out by pressing play on the cassette, the same one she had kept in there for a few weeks now. She wrapped her arms around the dress, pressing it to her body and swaying slightly in time to the music, feeling a kind of haze of drunkenness possess her even though she was stone-cold sober.

 _# It was fun for a while  
There was no way of knowing  
Like a dream in the night  
Who can say where we're going?_

 _No care in the world_  
 _Maybe I'm learning_  
 _Why the sea on the tide_  
 _Has no way of turning_ #

Alex closed her eyes against the strains of Bryan Ferry's crooning, the familiar and almost obsessive thoughts pervading her mind once more. She hadn't been able to stop them from cutting through, diving beneath the surface when she lay her head down to sleep at night and staying with her through several levels of dreaming, until she woke with them in the clear light of day.

More than mere thought; she could _feel_ , the longing and the craving taking over her whole being. She couldn't get it out of her head, returned to it time and time again. Gene's lips brushing her skin, parting slightly as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. The memory and the desperate reconstruction that her mind had pieced together caused tingles to race through her. There had been fragments of deeper feeling before, as much as she had tried to deny them afterwards, but they had been borne out of primal, extreme emotions; fear, hopelessness, gratitude, the loss of inhibition in what she had believed were the last moments of her life. Replaying them later, she had been certain that each one had equated to the heat of the moment. She had never before lingered on such an encounter between them, thoroughly confused by its meaning and yet knowing it all too clearly. It frightened her and she fought hard to deny, even as the rush became stronger with each time she recalled.

Her eyes flew open with a flash of light, almost blinding her. _No_. She wouldn't let herself surrender now. Not when she had fought so bloody hard, with every bit of her and breath in her. Nothing would keep her here, nothing mattered enough to make her give up the fight.

Certainly not Gene Hunt.

The loud rap on the door came as a laughably well-timed interruption, almost dispelling any strange romantic notions her subconscious had begun to conjure about him, coming perilously close to having convinced her.

"Bolly!" His bellow was muffled behind the closed door, and still it was all she was able to hear. "Get a wriggle on, will yer? If you take much longer yer'll have turned into a pumpkin before we even make it there."

She stifled a laugh at his obvious annoyance, stubbornly deciding that she would take as long as she damn well pleased and probably a bit longer just to rankle him even further.

"Won't be long," she said easily, dabbing the perfume onto the pulse points on her wrists and behind her ears. "Just have to pour myself into this dress."

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, and Alex could picture the look of realisation perfectly upon his face, even as it was disguised from her view.

"You sayin' you've got nothin' on?"

She smiled, unable to resist teasing him.

" _Almost_ nothing."

"You do know that I can break this door down within the space of seconds? Sounds as though me services are required pretty urgently by a damsel in distress. Or, more accurately, out of a dress."

"Don't even _think_ about it, Hunt."

As much as she was enjoying their banter it wasn't worth incurring serious damage to her property – and what's more, she knew that the bill would end up falling to her.

She opened the door to him without much further hesitation, noticing his expression fall slightly when he saw that she wasn't stark naked for his eager delectation. He soon shifted as his gaze raked over her, nodding his approval where his eyes travelled lazily. The dress was figure-hugging enough to resemble a second skin upon her.

"Scrub up well, Bols."

Alex smiled at his understated assertion of her appearance, seeing the greater enthusiasm in his eyes.

"Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself."

She could hardly berate him when she was doing just as badly, tamping down the desire that had surged within her on sight of him. He looked very good indeed. No, not just _good_ , but positively edible. The top button had been left open on his crisp white shirt, his hair dishevelled to just the right amount. She had never expected the day to come when she would find him wearing a tux, and wondered a little self-indulgently whether he had gone to the effort expressly for her. It didn't look as though it had been sitting at the back of a wardrobe gathering dust for years, fitting him like a glove – and causing her stomach to turn several somersaults.

Of course, he had to put his own twist on the formal wear as she noticed the tips of his crocodile-skin boots poking out the bottom of his trouser-legs, but he carried the unusual combination off rather well. Her smile was firmly in place and grew wider as her gaze went back upwards.

"Don't you know how to do a bow-tie?" Her tone was rather more accusing than she had intended.

"Can't say I've ever 'ad one on," he replied gruffly, "and I won't be tryin' it again. Fiddly bastards. Got fed up after twenty seconds."

The great Gene Hunt, the Manc Lion, defeated by a strip of fabric.

"I can't believe you've never worn one before."

"You might be used to the blokes at your la-di-dah public school gatherings lookin' like penguins," he near-spat the words, half in contempt at her upbringing she supposed, "but there wasn't much call for this kind of gear on the streets of Stalybridge."

She ceased her interrogation, moving nearer towards where he stood and bringing her hands up to his collar.

"Let me."

Her fingers threaded around the black tie that was currently draped loose around his neck. She fumbled a little, brushing bare warm skin for a moment or two, feeling Gene's eyes upon her as she lingered a touch too long where she needn't. The scent of his aftershave hit her nostrils and she felt rather intoxicated. Not the musky smell of Old Spice, which always reminded her of men who were much older than her and trying far too hard to impress. This was a lighter, fresher aroma, though still undeniably masculine. Something from God knows where within the recesses of her brain told her that it might be Paco Rabanne. She forced herself to pull back after moments, rather than nuzzling into his neck for a better appreciation.

The tie may well have remained untouched from the minutes previous, for all the progress she made. As he continued to stare at her, she tipped her head to the side and smiled, smoothing one palm over the material.

"It suits you like that," she eventually determined. "The style is inimitably Gene Hunt."

It occurred to her that she wouldn't want for any other option.

He looked at her somewhat perplexed, no doubt thinking she was off her rocker once more.

"Let's get a move on, then," he groused, "the sooner we leave, the sooner we can 'op it."

Alex sighed internally. All of her bubbling enthusiasm for the evening ahead was in danger of being steam-rollered by Gene's obvious grumpiness, hanging over his head like the darkest of clouds.

"Oh, I hope you're not going to be like this all night. You could at least try to fake it, for my sake."

"Speak for yerself, Bolly."

The heat rose to her head for a moment or two; it had to be another handy quip of his, because surely he was in no doubt that thus far she hadn't faked _anything_ with him.

In order to stop her own insecurities, she raised a smile.

"I 'ate these bloody things," he continued, huffing like a petulant schoolboy. " 'Policeman's ball'? Sure as shit isn't the reason why I joined the force, to get trussed up like a prize turkey, throw a load of posh tripe down me neck and bask in the glory of being a bleedin' knight in shinin' armour – I don't ruddy think."

 _Of course, because he'd rather play the hard-done-by, downtrodden copper who never got a word of thanks for all of his work._

"I do the job and get on with it, move on to the next lot of scumbags who need sortin'. Don't need to make a song and dance and get given a gold star to feel like it's worth the while."

"You're not being fair. It's one night out of three hundred odd. Hardly something to complain about." She leaned a little against the doorframe, staring him down and being careful not to crease her dress. "Besides, I've never been to one before. I've been rather looking forward to it."

He frowned, shaking his head slightly. "You lead a pretty sad life if this is one of the 'ighlights, Bols. And I would 'ave thought you've scoffed enough canapés to last a lifetime at all the other fancy do's you've been to."

"Contrary to belief I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, Gene."

"You should 'ave 'ad somethin' in there. Then perhaps you wouldn't nag me quite so bleedin' much."

She smiled, thinking to herself that they made quite the cliché. Uptown girl, downtown man. Posh totty and a bit of rough. Lady and the Tramp.

The last one was unfair – she would hardly call him that, especially not when he looked as gorgeous as he did right now, although she'd want him just as much in one of his regular suits. The thought crossed her mind that it almost felt like they were going on a date, perhaps that one they'd missed several times due to their own faults and equally fiery tempers. As it turned out they'd rather put the cart before the horse and the moment was likely lost forever, now that he knew what he could get from her without very much asking.

Her gaze must have drooped while she pondered the lost opportunity, and she was soon roused by Gene clapping his hands together, the sound like a slap to her face.

"Cheer up, Lady B. I'm not goin' to stand you up on your big night." He stepped to the side, holding his arm out towards the staircase which led down from her little flat. "Your carriage awaits."

She slipped her arm into the crook of his as they made their way outside, the Quattro gleaming brightly against the street that was already hidden by darkness. It seemed like he had put the work in there as well, or otherwise took it for a spin through the nearest carwash.

"No sign of the others?" she enquired, dipping herself down to get a closer look.

"Told 'em to get a cab. Ray's payin'; by the look on 'is face you would 'ave thought United had lost the league."

He chuckled while she got comfortable in the passenger seat, resting her clutch bag in her lap. Soon enough Gene's hand joined it there, and she forgot to breathe for a moment or two while his steel-blue gaze settled upon her, changing their focus between her eyes and lips in the space of seconds.

"You and me, Bols," he uttered, patting his hand just above her knee. "No bastard's goin' to get in the way of us havin' a good time tonight. And neither is Skelton's incessant prattlin'."

* * *

She had to admit to being rather disappointed on arrival, her expectations markedly different to the somewhat dull reality. The function suite of the hotel was as tired-looking as anything she could accurately remember from her real experience of the '80s, a slowly revolving disco-ball sticking out like a sore thumb over the dancefloor which was set towards the back of the room. Further up an array of tables had been arranged, complete with garish gold and purple tablecloths and seat coverings, though at present they were sparsely populated. Perhaps half of the Met's finest hadn't got the memo or were being held up by traffic.

"Told you not to get yer 'opes up, Bolly," Gene scoffed as she cast her eyes about dejectedly, sounding pleased with himself. "Not quite Buck Palace, and it's costin' half our wages to 'ave it for the night."

It would be so easy to slip into his way of thinking. Not for the first time she found herself wondering exactly how long he had been here – not in 'London', but in this strange dimension that sometimes seemed so much more real to her senses. Was her sentence for a crime she hadn't been aware she had committed to stay for the same amount of time? Whatever, she was determined not to become as sour and jaded as he was, head set an angle that warned her not to argue and hands planted firmly in pockets, making the tux look vastly less elegant.

Before she could stare him out for too long Shaz came running up from the nearly empty dancefloor towards her, the ra-ra skirt from her blue velvet dress whirling out from above her knees. She gasped about how 'fab' Alex looked, and then was pulling her superior by the hand further along to whence she had came.

Alex grinned back at Shaz, promising she would be there in just a moment. She knew she was taking a rather stupendous leap and didn't for a second imagine that it would actually come off. All the same, she looked towards Gene with wide eyes.

"No," he barked out defiantly, hands rooting yet further down into his pockets, "Gene Hunt does _not_ dance."

Her eyes flared, giving him a moment to reconsider, but he stayed fixed to the spot where he stood. Alex smirked as she leant into him, flexing her body so that it was a hair's breadth away from touching his.

"Spoilsport," she near-whispered, leaving him with nothing more to hold onto than the waft of her posh perfume as she floated away, joining the party – of two – on the dancefloor.

Gene sulked into the shadows coming from the multi-coloured lights as he watched the select members of his team making prats of themselves in front of an audience who couldn't care less.

In the centre of the floor was Skelton, looking like a right poof. What was with those bleeding highlights in his hair? Looked no better than a flock of birds having shat on his head from a great height. He was bending his knees and gyrating his hips to the sounds of Michael Jackson, and it was enough to put Gene off his chips. _An absolute prize tosser, that's what he is._ Yet he obviously didn't give two hoots about what anyone else thought of him, and though he had no aspirations whatsoever to do as Skelton was doing Gene couldn't help but feel a certain sense of admiration for his younger colleague. He'd come a long way in the space of ten years or more; Gene recalled when they'd picked him up like a little boy lost on the streets, hardly stringing two words together and full of the fear of doing something that put him firmly out of place. To look at him now, nobody would think he was the same person. Probably Tyler's influence. He knew that Chris looked up to the soft sod, held him with the regard of an idol.

 _If only you could see 'im now, Sammy boy. You'd barely recognise 'im. And it 'asn't even been that long..._

Whatever poncey dance move he was pulling, he certainly had the attention of Granger – _that dizzy little Essex bird was dazzled by 'im, didn't say much for the other blokes there_ – and Bolly, who were twirling either side of him. _Bolly._ For a passing moment or two Gene was filled with jealousy towards DC Skelton, which was utterly ridiculous. His hand was resting rather gingerly above her waist, and while it wasn't anywhere as near as bad as her wiggling all over Carling at that boat party, Gene found that he still wasn't very happy about it.

But she was smiling and laughing, her head thrown back as she swayed her body to the beat of the music. That delicious body of hers, with curves in all the right places and a few more thrown in for good measure. He'd never in his wildest dreams imagined that he'd ever have the privilege of running his hands all over them, feeling her fall to pieces beneath his fingertips, only for him to put them back into place again the next time around.

The dress she had on was scandalous in itself; if it was any other bird walking the streets he would have had them charged for indecent exposure. A slit on one side up to the base of her thigh, showing off one of her shapely legs to the full degree. Her cleavage always looked amazing but it was framed perfectly in this get-up, and his cheeks were still burning from when she informed him in the car that she'd had to go commando to stop herself from getting a VPL. All bloody double Dutch to him, but when she explained herself he'd nearly blown a gasket. He swore it was her express mission in life to give him a heart attack at least twenty years before it was due. It took all the willpower he possessed – which was running low given their current predicament – not to pull the Quattro into a side street and order her to drape herself in the back, if the bonnet didn't take her fancy.

No, he wouldn't allow himself to get carried away again, not after the episode with his desk. _She's a better class of bird than you're used to, Hunt – a far better class than you'll ever deserve – and you'll drag yourself up to treat 'er how she should be treated._

He continued to watch wistfully from the sidelines, not tempted to join in even with all of Bolly's writhing and wriggling. The only way he'd ever dance was with the aid of several pints down him; the only time he'd feel comfortable enough to shrug off most of his insecurities, and the only time he'd admit to having any.

That was what usually got him to go to these bloody things; the promise of a well-stocked free bar which he'd have a good bash at draining dry while there were still a few hours left to go of the whole debacle. He turned his gaze away from the dancefloor, which was starting to fill up more thanks to the ongoing efforts of the three Musketeers, and looked with equal longing towards the bar, full of just as much temptation. Ray looked like a bit of a lemon standing there on his own – god knows where Terry, Poirot and the others had got to – so Gene went over to join him, his mouth dryer than Gandhi's flip-flop.

"Enjoyin' yerself, Raymondo?"

"Oh yeah, havin' a ball," Ray scoffed, pint in hand. Some of the precious ale threatened to spill as he thrust it in the direction of the aforementioned dancefloor. "What does 'e look like? And those trousers are way too tight for 'im. Bloody poofter."

Gene managed a hint of a smile looking towards Chris, feeling in much more comfortable territory with his back propped against the bar.

"Well it's not my cup of tea, but let's not knock the lad for lettin' 'is hair down."

"Er, whatever you say, Guv." Ray was clearly caught off guard, frowning in confusion at Gene's reluctance to join in with the baiting.

As the bartender lined up several drinks for waiting punters, DS Carling grinned, beholding the beautiful sight of a line of perfectly poured pints.

"Why don't you 'ave the night off, Guv? Or just 'ave the one?" Ray nudged his head towards the array of ale just down the way from them. "What Drake doesn't know can't hurt 'er. And you know I won't breathe a word."

By God, it was tempting. Gene watched as another man picked up a golden pint, cool condensation running down the side of the glass, his mouth both watering and going dry as the pleased customer took a first gratifying sip. _Lucky sod._

"Nah, you're alright," He straightened himself up, his armour tightening around his chest. "I'll get your next one in for you, though."

DS Carling wore the starry-eyed and stunned look of someone who had just won big on the pools as his Guv handed the money over to the waiter on the other side. He was made of stern stuff, he'd give him that.

No sooner had he put the change into his back pocket than a booming voice called him down to the opposite end of the bar.

"Gene! Come and join us, why don't you?"

His gut twisted; it was the last thing he bloody needed, to spend half the night in that company, painting on a forced grimace. But he had to keep up appearances, and that included bowing to Supermac for a bit.

"Sir."

Mac clapped a hand on his shoulder. "How are you, Gene? Blimey, you look different. Mistook you for a waiter for a moment."

A low chorus of laughter rose up from the cronies gathered around them.

"One night of the year, doesn't 'urt to put the effort in." He wore a tight smile as he looked round, Mac cemented in the middle of the crowd. " 'ave to show the rest of 'em what we're made of in Fenchurch East."

"Quite right. Only the best will do," Mac returned the smile, stretching his arm out. "Speaking of which, I see that your hand is empty. You'll crack open this bottle, won't you? Been saving it especially."

If only he wasn't holding a bleeding twelve-year-old malt in his hand. _Christ's sake._

Gene shook his head, taking a step back. "Not tonight. There's a big case on, don't want to cloud me vision."

"Now I know that you're an imposter," Mac laughed. "Tell me, who are you and what have you done with DCI Hunt?"

As the rest of them laughed, Gene sniggered along as well, pretending that the joke was a funny one.

"I know what this is down to," Mac said, inching closer to Gene, "or rather, _who_. I said it from day one, letting female Detective Inspectors in was a bad idea. They're good in the lower ranks, doing the filing and typing, but that's about it. Keep them there before they get ideas above their station. She's a bad influence, that one. Some might even say poison."

Gene's expression hardened despite his better reasoning. God help him; Mac might be his superior, but he'd end up having a necking session with the floor if he dared to say anything out of line about Bolly.

Both of their gazes went to the dancefloor, Alex at the centre of it, winding her body up and down.

He felt Mac's hot and boozy breath down the back of his collar.

"Hmm, I suppose she does have some uses though. Lock me in a room with her, and I'd soon show her who's boss."

He didn't dare turn around to come face to face with Mac, because he knew within the second that his fist would end up coming into swift contact with that smug face. His boots were too bloody good to kick that excuse for a Super in the bollocks.

He muttered his excuses about needing to be elsewhere but he didn't expect that he was heard, all of Mac's cronies roaring with laughter around him. Creepy, weirdy bunch of bloody Masons got up his nose at the best of times. At his side, his knuckles were turning white with the force at which he was keeping his fist clenched, the rage burning in his chest worse than indigestion.

Alex hobbled slightly as she made her way off the dancefloor; it hadn't been the wisest decision to go straight into dancing, not with the heels she had on, and now her feet were crippling her. She wanted to keep the night lively, however; hadn't wanted to be dragged down by Gene being a moody bastard. He was storming across the room and she noticed the hardness of his expression; apparently something had gone on to sour matters further.

She huffed, moving as fast as she could to catch up with him.

"Gene," her voice called out to him, "what's happened?"

"Not now, Bols," he replied without turning to look at her.

Her frustration as well as her concern began to rise; even with their new level of intimacy he was apparently determined not to let her in. _Serves you right, Alex, for thinking that this was something more than the scratching of a mutual itch._

She reached her hand out regardless, her fingers barely brushing his palm.

He turned round abruptly at her touch, his face like thunder.

"I said, _not now_."

He wrenched his arm away from her grasp, leaving her feeling stung and rejected. She watched him as he went out of the door, supposing it was best that he cooled off. She just hoped there were no unsuspecting staff or other hotel guests who might get in his way. With a sigh, she hopped across to take a seat at one of the tables.

He slunk back in time for the dinner, plonking himself down in the seat next to hers. The tension tightened her whole body as she watched him, gnawing at his steak. She was so anxious, waiting for something to erupt, that she barely touched her own plate. The music around drowned out, her eyes focused on nothing else but Gene, his six foot plus frame hunched over in the chair, keeping the ball of anger locked tight in his chest.

The lights went up, a man with white hair taking the makeshift stage, his voice echoing around the room as he spoke into the microphone.

"Every one of us is here because we have a vital part to play in ensuring the safety of this great city, but there are some who have given over many years of their lives with great honour and sacrifice, and it's our duty each year to recognise such brave efforts."

Spikes ran along Alex's skin; she watched Gene's jaw clench, his hand shuddering upon the table.

The white-haired man continued with his speech. "This man has so often gone above and beyond the call of duty; the number of lives he has protected immeasurable, the operations he has headed truly significant in weeding out some of the worst criminals in London. But he's nothing if not modest, so without further ado it's my pleasure to award this year's Metropolitan Police Special Achievement award to...Detective Superintendent Charles Mackintosh."

Applause rang out around the room as Supermac rose from his table on the other side of the room, some in attendance getting to their feet to offer an ovation.

"Sod this for a game of soldiers."

Alex was the only one to hear Gene's muttering, and she stayed watching as he stood, clapping his hands harshly a few times before turning and exiting the room. She took off less than a minute after, feeling that she couldn't remain amongst the party. Mac had begun giving his acceptance speech but she caught no more than the first few words before leaving, her overriding concern for Gene. If nothing more, she wanted to be on hand to prevent him from making a scene and curb any of the collateral damage.

There was no sign of him in the reception and a cold wave of panic washed over her, until she found him not too far away down a quiet corridor, leaning heavily against the wall. She approached him carefully, treating him like an animal not long hit by a tranquiliser.

He rose his head slowly, acknowledging her presence with a silent nod. The fury and fire had dissipated from his eyes, which she took to be a good sign.

So often he left her confused and full of questions, and his methods were deeply unorthodox – yet not that out of place here – but as time went on, she had little doubt that he was one of the good guys.

"I think they made the wrong choice," she started softly, drawing closer to where he stood.

He shook his head, scoffing at her words. "Stuff Mac and 'is soddin' award. He can polish it with 'is knackers for all I care." He paused, then a slow smirk began to twist his lips. It scared her ever so slightly. "Soon enough 'e won't have much else to 'old on to."

Her stomach started to plummet towards her aching feet. Had her growing feeling clouded her judgement?

"I don't understand," she began, becoming aware that there might be something much bigger than she had ever realised at stake. She looked deep into his eyes and felt strangely reassured. "What's going on, Gene?"

"Mac's as bent as a whole bunch of ten-bob notes," he explained, and it didn't come as a great shock. She hadn't had that many encounters with Supermac, but there was something off about him. He wasn't like Gene, in more ways than one. "I've known for a while now, and it makes me bloody sick, being under a corrupt bastard like 'im. But it's not the first time and I'd bet me boots it won't be the last."

She nodded her head in a kind of understanding, feeling her own sense of rage at the injustice of it all starting to gather greater. She felt enough at ease now that she reached out her hand and touched his arm. He flinched, but didn't pull away.

"Been bidin' my time, Bolly. I've got a plan." Her stomach flipped over again. "Gonna involve me doin' a lot of things I don't want to. But that's the way it goes." He straightened his shoulders, his gaze searching hers. "Gonna need me team around me. Gonna need their trust."

Alex did her best to swallow away the lump lodged in her throat, looking back at him with wide eyes.

"I'll help you," she offered without hesitation. "Let me help you."

 _Yes, this was it._ Something in her told her that it all made sense. Getting closer to Gene; the two of them, together. Standing side by side, working with one another to remove the disease from inside. Like dislodging the bullet from her brain.

And then she could go home. It would all be over.

A weary sigh escaped him as he ran a hand over his face. "Almost told you on a couple of occasions, but it's risky stuff. I didn't want you gettin' involved."

She stared him out, not relenting for a second, and the beginnings of a smile started to shift his expression.

"That said, I didn't take into account just what a determined pair of stockings you actually are."

Alex returned the smile, taking it as acceptance and feeling slightly delirious that she'd finally cracked it; held the key to her return in her hands.

" 'm sorry that the ball's been such a pile of shit, Cinders."

She giggled inwardly at the thought of Gene being her Prince Charming, finding it slightly incomprehensible even with how dashing he looked this evening.

"You did try to warn me," she replied with a smirk, "and I'm not even wearing stockings tonight."

He sniggered, his gaze dropping instinctively to the lower half of her body and the leg that was on show, exposed by the cut of her dress.

"I forgot to ask," her tone took on a sultry note, her hips flexing to highlight the outfit to full effect, "is it slutty enough for you?"

Gene's eyes went back to meet hers, an unreadable look covering his features as she waited eagerly for his verdict.

"No," he said plainly, and as silly as it was, she couldn't help but feel a smidgen of disappointment. His eyes softened, clearer to a lighter shade of blue; the colour was striking, and she remained mesmerised by them as he stepped in closer to her, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. "You look beautiful, Bols."

A delightful shiver snaked up her spine, the fluttering of a thousand butterflies' wings coming to life inside of her. She smiled as the colour rushed to her cheeks, needing to look away from the power of his gaze for a moment or two, before she composed herself, her feet standing firm on the ground.

"Next time, then."

"Yeah," he said, his breath upon her face, "next time."

The moment grew about them and she let it linger, feeling like a teenager sneaking away from her house again. Doing something she shouldn't. That notion seemed to be lessening further into the distance with each day that passed.

She took a deep breath, looked him in the eyes. Unspoken words. _We'd better get back_.

Before she could step past him, his hand had closed around her wrist.

"Alex..."

She could only take another singular breath before his lips were on hers, his hands holding onto her waist. The kiss deepened within the space of mere seconds, both of them making mutual sounds of satisfaction and encouragement, the back of her heel trailing up his calf. All she was aware of was his mouth, warm and soft and meshing with her own, and the heat and growing rigidity at the front of his trousers, rubbing against her.

There was a wicked flash in her eyes, the tip of her tongue darting between her lips.

"Fancy getting lucky in the backseat of the Quattro?" she questioned, ready to run even as the soles of her feet sizzled with pain. It was incredibly hot all of a sudden, and she would have welcomed the chill of the night air cooling her skin.

Gene shook his head, hands still clamped to her hips.

"Mac's payin' to put us up 'ere for the night," he said with a glint in his eyes, "let's make the most of it while he's still goin' on about what a big knob 'e is."

"Oh, I'm pretty certain he could never match up," Alex retorted, grinding herself with purpose against Gene's confined erection.

"You naughty tart," he growled, lacing his fingers with hers and pulling her off the wall. "Get to my room, sharpish."

They took little time in delaying, taking the stairs rather than the lift to the third floor. Alex's body fizzed with excitement, the sensation intensifying more each time. She scrunched a hand into her hair as Gene fumbled getting the key into the lock, cursing under his breath. Her hand rested on his back; she was about to suggest they head to her room down the corridor instead, and then there was success, the door swinging back on its hinges as Gene bundled her inside.

The room was neat and barely touched, the only evidence that anyone had been inside was Ray's jacket draped over the single bed nearest the wall. She'd frozen for a moment on the way up, thinking of the risk of interruption, but Gene had reassured her that Ray was well preoccupied at the bar, drinking for the both of them. If anything they'd be in more trouble if they had gone to her room, as Shaz was more likely to pop in to retrieve something and her shriek of surprise would have called the entire Met and their mothers up to wait outside.

Alex kicked off her shoes in a fashion, relieved to feel the soft carpet beneath her toes.

"Should 'ave come up 'ere from the off," Gene quipped, throwing the jacket of his tux to the floor.

"Mmm," Alex mumbled, her thoughts rapidly taking her somewhere else, "would have looked a bit strange if we hadn't turned up at the start."

"Couldn't give a monkey's 'ow it looked. I know it would 'ave made me feel a damn sight better to enjoy a bit of Bolly for starters."

He smirked, waggling his eyebrows towards her, but she was crouching down, her eyes level with his crotch. As her hands slid up to the waistband of his trousers, he was left in little doubt of what she was planning.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols," he exclaimed, taken by surprise at the speed at which she'd got him out of his boxers, "now I know why you didn't finish yer dinner."

Hungry for a different kind of meat and two veg altogether, apparently. It crossed his mind that he was being selfish again, letting her get on with pleasuring him. He was about to protest and pull her hand away – as fantastic as it felt to have her working his length in her silky palm – but then her warm mouth took the place of her fingers, and he could have exploded right there and then.

"Alex!" he choked out her name in a helpless, strangled cry. "Bloody fuck..."

Her tongue teased the tip of his straining cock, running circles around it before she took him in more fully, sucking gently. He let out a series of groans, one hand threading through her hair and stroking her scalp while the other steadied himself against the wall, stopping him from buckling completely. Christ, hardly anything felt better than this; not an ice-cold pint or a glass of the finest scotch that could be had. He brought his head forward and gazed down at her, his mouth going dry at what he saw. Those doe eyes looking up at him and raven hair framing her face, gorgeous lips wrapped around him, her hand rolling and massaging his balls. Shit, he wasn't going to last if she carried on much longer and there was no sign of her stopping, as she sucked harder.

"Bolly, stop," he murmured with some effort, "you're too good...Jesus, love, you 'ave to stop."

She reluctantly released him, her hand straying back to caress his hardness instead of her lips and tongue doing so.

"One of these days you'll let me finish," she huffed as she got back to her feet. She had wanted to do something for him, seeing as he hadn't wanted to attend tonight in the first place.

"Too flamin' right I will," he replied, turning them so that she was the one with her back pressed to the wall. "Right now, I want you, Alex Drake."

The want in his eyes was so intense that she found herself gasping for air before anything had begun, her legs quickly turning to jelly.

"Want to be balls-deep in you when you come. Want to 'ear you scream my name, no matter who might be outside." His fingers caressed the skin of her thighs, hitching her dress up over her waist. "You gunna do that for me, Bols?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, nodding eagerly. "Yes."

He smiled wryly as his thumb ran circles over her hip-bone.

"This commando lark makes things a lot easier," he remarked with approval, "might hide all your knickers next time I'm at yours so that I can 'ave you whenever."

He pushed into her, feeling her body respond to him immediately and revelling in the sensation. As she hitched her leg up to his middle he placed a hand on her arse, welcoming the opportunity to drive even deeper into her. Their mutual sounds of relief and escalating pleasure reverberated off the walls, sounding loudest most of all in one another's ears, their bodies pressed together as close as it was possible to be.

"Gene," she breathed, clutching onto him as she sought to wrap her other leg around his waist, letting the wall hold her up, "Need you so much...oh my god, don't stop."

Not a bloody chance that he would, both of her gorgeous legs around him, keeping him right where he wished he could stay buried forever.

"Christ, Bolly...never felt so good...fuckin' hell."

Her hips rocked upwards as he powered into her, the pace he was going at close to tipping off the scales. He tried to slow himself down but her pants and moans of pleasure only served to spur him on. She was just too bloody irresistible, especially all dressed up to the nines.

Alex found it increasingly difficult to hold onto her breath, her vision blurring as she held onto Gene for support. He was so big, so hard, so deep within her and somehow she was still greedy for more. She loved the way he looked, staring into her eyes while he kept working inside her tirelessly. There was a glimpse of vulnerability she caught and cherished through the flashes of ecstasy upon his expression, and it only added to the electric tingles racing through her body.

He clung onto control with the very tips of his fingers, reaching a hand down to stroke her just above where his aching cock moved in and out of her, his hips fast becoming a blur.

"Oh, Gene...I'm going to..." His fingers rubbing her clit firmly was what toppled her over the edge. "Oh, yesssss!"

"Fuck, Alex...my god..." The rapid movement of his fingers against her had caused him to thrust with increased fervour. "Jesus Christ...Alex!"

It took them both some time to come down from their shared high, clasping onto one another and breathing hard, struck almost stunned by the fact that they had achieved climax together at almost the very same second.

One of his hands grasped onto hers, twining their fingers tight, his other still holding her dress up from trailing on the floor as she regained enough feeling to bring her legs back to the floor.

He pressed a kiss against her neck before he straightened up, tucking himself away.

"Better freshen up before we rejoin the party, ey, Bolly?"

The music was still blaring when they arrived back downstairs, Alex smoothing her dress and fixing her hair self-consciously. Everyone was gathered into their little clusters, the Fenchurch East team split into their usual fractions and Supermac holding onto his award proudly at the centre of the bar as though he was the first recipient of such an accolade. Aside from dancing and drinking there wasn't much else to do, and the former wasn't much of a viable option.

Gene held onto her arm, escorting her into a quiet corner of the room, lust still burning in his eyes. She was aware the same could also be found in her gaze; while their encounter in his room had been mind-blowing it was a quickie all the same, and her body was yearning for more of him.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Bols? I don't fancy babysittin' this lot whilst half of them chuck their guts up outside at gone two in the mornin'."

She smiled wryly. "And say what? Shaz will be worried if she wakes up and I'm not in the room."

"I dunno," he returned, "feed them a little white lie. Say that somethin' urgent's come up."

She couldn't stop herself from stifling a giggle, as childish as it was. "Well, I suppose that's true enough."

He looked less impressed, though she noticed the start of his smirk from the corner of her eye. "You laugh while you can, Lady B. I'd better go and tell 'is Lordship over there that we'll be gone for the rest of the night, not that he'll give a toss."

Gene gave the word to Mac, who really didn't seem that fussed, and worked round the others before making his way out to the reception, where Alex was waiting for him.

They stepped out into the night with his arm around her waist, resting there naturally and also protectively as they moved through the shadowy streets towards the beacon of the Quattro. She smiled at him pulling her closer as they walked, enjoying the feeling of being looked after and shivering slightly at the cold, the plummeted temperature coming as something of a shock.

"Come 'ere," Gene uttered, taking the jacket from his shoulders and draping it round hers instead, "don't want you catchin' pneumonia on my watch, dozy mare."

She gazed up at him, a warmth spreading out from the pit of her stomach to infuse her limbs at his touch.

The Quattro speeded them towards her flat, and she supposed that she didn't have any further need for it but she kept the jacket on anyway, enjoying the scent of Paco Rabanne that was surrounding her from every angle.

* * *

Half of her could have collapsed on the spot where she stood, while the other half was bursting with so much adrenaline that she could barely keep still. She had dashed into the bedroom, hastily tidying away all that she'd left scattered about from hours ago, and changed into something more comfortable while doing so – namely a strappy nightdress and her silk dressing gown.

She'd left Gene in the front room, loafing on the sofa. He seemed to have become part of the furniture now, such a fixture was he here after their regular hours – though his usual resting place was bollock-naked between her bedsheets. Alex smiled hazily as she rested against the doorframe, drinking the sight of him in, feeling the fire rise up through her body while she did nothing more than watch him.

He caught sight of the glimmer in her eyes, his own fixed to the sweep of her legs as she moved across the floor in stockinged feet.

"What?" he said accusingly as she threw a look over her shoulder.

She found it harder to bite back a mischievous grin. "I know you were embarrassed back there, but now that it's just the two of us...well, I hoped you would save a dance for me."

His brows wrinkled, lips curling defensively.

"I wasn't bloody _embarrassed_ ," he countered, puffing out his chest as he got to his feet, squaring up to her. "I told yer, I don't dance. End of."

"Hmm, why don't I believe you?" she teased, padding closer to him.

She could have gone into great detail about the couple of dreams she'd had where he'd been the star of a one-man-show, dancing, singing; all for her delectation. However she refrained, expecting that it might give him some kind of complex and put a stop to the passion they'd had planned.

"Can't we just get to the horizontal kind of dancin' instead?"

"It's a compulsory bit of foreplay tonight, I'm afraid." She smiled at the pout that lay firm upon his face, resisting the urge to kiss it away – for the time being, at least. "Anyway, I've always found it something of a turn-on. It works for Chris."

"Don't tell me you've got the bleedin' hots for Skelton! You really will get a reputation for yerself, Bols."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm fairly sure that he only has eyes for Shaz. Besides, he's a bit too... _sweet_ for me."

Gene's expression moved into a knowing smirk. "You mean you're too filthy for 'im. Christ, the poor lad wouldn't know where to look when it came to you, cavorting about with no knickers on."

"I'm a terrible influence, I know." One hand snaked its way up his chest, her eyelashes fluttering. "You ought to keep your distance, DCI Hunt."

He chuckled, a hand moving down from the small of her back to rest on her bum. "You got there way too late, Bolly. I was a lost cause years ago."

She beamed up at him before she leant her head close to his shoulder, her other hand locking with his in a clasp that came instinctively.

"But not irretrievable," she whispered into his chest, nestling against him as they started to sway in time to the music.

"Right, well," he murmured to the top of her head, "just watch you don't tread on me toes."

She'd started up the cassette from the point where she'd left it, and now Bryan was singing about the party being over, being so tired. She shared the sentiment somewhat but felt as though she was floating more than anything else, ensconced in Gene's embrace. He'd started off a bit hesitant, and they were barely moving, but she believed that he wasn't taking part only to please her. Maybe it was because her body was fitting snugly against his, the only other times they'd been this close when they were intimately connected as one. In some respects, this felt even more euphoric.

She would have been content to stay with her head upon him for quite some time, but she also found that she was missing not looking at him. His eyes appeared even more striking, almost unbelievably blue.

"I do trust you, you know."

The beginnings of a slow smile drifted onto his lips, making him easier to read.

"Got a funny way of showin' it, Bols."

She grimaced slightly. She knew what it meant to him; the weight of the confession was more than if she had professed undying love.

"I know I'm not easy to put up with. I go on too much, fight you with every breath."

His gaze was unwavering, held her in place as firmly as the hand that was upon her waist.

"But I don't think it would mean as much," she continued, breath starting to stutter slightly, "if it was anyone else...I'm with you for a reason, Gene. And now...now I think I understand why..."

She unlaced her fingers from his, sliding her palm to his cheek. He inhaled sharply as she did so, exhaling in time to the beat of her heart.

"You do go on somethin' stupid," he uttered, her gaze fixed to the movement of his lips. "But I can't say I mind the fightin'. Gives me the right 'orn."

Alex giggled, everything seeming rather surreal for a moment.

"You and me," she said, recovering her senses, stroking his skin beneath her fingertips. "Unbreakable."

His smile deepened for a matter of seconds before it was chased away again. "Told you that months ago, Bols."

Closing the tiny gap between them, she smiled.

"But it does take a while for me to listen."

Before he could think to reply her mouth pressed to his, opening enough to let his tongue slide in. She heard and felt him rasp into her throat, the expression of his pure hunger for her making her knees weak.

Through blistering kisses, stopping only to gasp in more air and let hands wander over one another, she managed to pull him to the bedroom. He stripped her of her robe and nightdress easily, assisting her in the greater task of getting him out of his tux. When they were both naked Alex smiled seductively, pushing him back onto the bed and rising onto her knees. She threw the duvet off without care, thinking of nothing other than the pursuit of bliss as she sunk down onto him, more than ready for the night ahead of them to stretch out gloriously.

* * *

The light in the bathroom was too bright for her eyes; she found herself squinting to shut it out, even though she'd been awake for the past half-hour or more. Restlessness and frustration had drove her up, legs still feeling wobbly as she had padded cautiously to the previously shadowy room, being mindful not to wake the sleeping lion in her bed.

She adjusted gradually, a hand scrunched into her flattened hair as she stared herself out in the mirror. What she was looking for, she wasn't precisely sure.

 _The physical signs? They never really told much. If anything the longer you looked expecting to see something there, the greater you became deceived._

Her skin had since lost its post-orgasmic glow; now she looked pale with the effects of deadening sleep. A few red marks left on her chest, easy enough to be covered up come the full dawning of day. She'd been shagging Gene for a couple of weeks now and there was no surface evidence; as far as anyone would be able to tell, they were in the clear, nothing to convict them.

 _You know where you need to look, Alex. It's no use fooling yourself any longer._

She exhaled heavily, knowing that she needed to face up to the truth in her heart but not wanting to admit as much. From behind her hazy reflection she half expected to see not quite the same Molly who had joined her earlier in the evening, a less forgiving version of her daughter emerging from the harsh and unreal light to judge her.

 _I know, Molls. I shouldn't have done it; I shouldn't have given in. Why hadn't I thought of you instead? The love of my life. The life that I had, and that I've lost now. Just temporarily. I'll never lose you, Molls. I'm fighting every day to get back to you again. Even with the stupid decision I've made..._

You made your bed and now you're lying in it, quite literally. _Think, Alex; don't be so naive._ Sex without emotional complications rarely exists. _Well, it's too late for that now_. Something had shifted tonight, the two times they had made love. That term was profoundly accurate for what had taken place in the past hours; the slow and sensual kisses, the touches that went past the moment and became closer to eternity. She almost hadn't been able to bear letting him leave her body, the tears welling in her eyes as she clung on tight.

But it had happened before then. The hours and days blurred in her mind; she found it hard to concentrate, pinpoint the particular moment.

Perhaps this was some kind of parallel universe. Her life starting over, going back.

 _And if Molly wasn't here, then there had to be another love..._

She almost burst out into hysterics as the realisation dawned upon her. It was entirely absurd. She didn't belong here, and she had no intention of staying. She couldn't, even if she admitted that she felt things for Gene. Emotions that ran deeper than the quenching of a physical ache. What was worse was that she couldn't even say that he had forced her hand; it wasn't an obligation or an order (she didn't obey the ones he put to her most of the time anyway), it was entirely of her own doing.

He had said the word once, in reference to their working relationship, or so she had thought. _Connection_.

 _That's what the brain does. Treads paths, clutches onto threads, lights up synapses._

She'd been using her brain less and less lately, letting other factors take over.

 _What is it that really connects everything, your body to your soul, your life to that of others?_

The thing she was thinking of shuddered harder on the left side of her chest, raced faster when she thought of what was waiting for her in her best resting place.

All was pitch once more; she had to feel her way back to the bed, and was aided more through the sound of Gene's snoring than her own failing sight. She held her breath as he stirred for a moment after one of her legs had slipped back in but exhaled easily when he turned onto his side, slumber undisturbed. The warmth emanating from him enveloped her bare skin immediately, her dressing gown having been discarded on the floor again.

Even in the darkness she was able to trace his features; long eyelashes resting upon cheekbones, his usually molten gold mane of hair relaxed against the pillow. Her heart contracted as she leant herself down towards him, a light hand sweeping a lock of hair from the centre of his forehead. A breath of a kiss touching the crown and another moment to ponder his peaceful form before she moved to lay back down, the keeper of a thousand secrets.

Alex stared at her lover, then the ceiling for a while before succumbing to sleep once more, doing what she usually did. Thinking, thinking.

 _Just what kind of a mess have I got myself into?_

* * *

 **A/N: Lyrics are from _More Than This_ by Roxy Music and written by Bryan Ferry. For the purpose of this fic (and those as yet unwritten) I had to rework the 3.7 scene, because it makes my heart melt.**

 **I confess to making a teeny anachronism - _Avalon_ the album wasn't actually released until May 1982, but I just couldn't resist using it as Alex's new favourite LP. I'd recommend taking a listen if you haven't; it's very fitting for Galex, especially _While My Heart Is Still Beating_ and _Take A Chance With Me_. But I'm sure A2A/'80s aficionados already have it on repeat!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Big thanks for the reads and reviews, as ever! Things are getting a little more serious between these two, but there's still more smuttiness to come (no pun intended - or is there?) ;)**

* * *

Chapter 5

The walls of Fenchurch East station were surprisingly thin and the swing-doors that blocked the corridors didn't do anything to stifle the noise echoing down them, getting closer and closer. The screams and bellows had been going on for a good few minutes, ceasing for a moment of respite and then resuming with greater ferocity than before.

It could have been mistaken for a riot but the assorted criminals were locked safely in their holding cells, and the usual residents knew that it was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Time to duck and take cover, mate," Chris leaned over his desk, keeping one eye on the doors for the chaos that was on the verge of erupting.

"Too late for that. The warzone's about to head this way." Ray jumped to his feet, seizing the copy of yesterday's newspaper and rolling it into his hand.

The curses and shrieks reverberated, becoming louder and clearer as they approached.

"I'm headin' for the bogs," DS Carling informed his colleagues. "It's been brewin' for a while but now's the call for the perfect getaway."

"That's disgusting," Shaz wrinkled her nose in revulsion while Ray remained oblivious, whistling a tune as he headed in the opposite direction just in the nick of time.

Before anyone could say anything further, the two senior detectives came barrelling through and a silence fell upon the rest of the room. Not that it was noticed when neither of them let up for a second.

"For the last time, Bollykecks, it's not happenin'," Gene stated, his rage tethered while he took stance in the middle of the room, hands in balled fists at his sides. "I dunno, if I were you I'd be askin' for me money back on all that posh-bollocks education, seein' as they never bothered to teach yer the fundamental meaning of the word 'no'!"

She was used to the jibes about her upbringing, letting them slide as fluidly as water from a duck's back. Hands resting on her hips, she straightened her spine, determined that she wouldn't give in to another round of futile point-scoring.

"Aren't you getting bored of all this?"

"Finally, she makes some sense."

She stayed firm, refused to lose her cool; he was doing a sterling job of that for the both of them.

"Harding," Alex reiterated, "He keeps on bouncing back like a bloody rubber ball and wasting time, when we could actually be out there solving some serious crimes."

George Harding had turned up again, the third time in as many months. He was starting to treat Fenchurch East station like a hotel, knowing that after committing some petty blag he'd have somewhere to rest his head for the night and dry out until the whole process would happen again not too far down the line. Alex was irritated by the game of cat and mouse but could see the benefits for both parties, Gene being satisfied by the easy chase and quick win. What concerned her more was that there was clearly something lying deeper beneath the surface with Harding; he wasn't a young man out for misguided glory, didn't fit the profile of a criminal mastermind. When they'd been questioning him after arrest – though they could have easily just played the same tape back again for all the 'new' information he gave – she had seen the bruises and lacerations on his weedy-looking arms, evidence of harsher punishment than Gene's rough-housing. A better than fair possibility that they'd been self-inflicted.

"The best outcome for everyone concerned is to get to the root of the problem," she continued, resolute in her thinking.

Gene scoffed, slinging off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"Don't bloody fool yourself," he spat, "Harding doesn't do what 'e does because his old man walked out when 'e was a nipper. Not because his mam turned to the comfort of a bloke named Jack Daniels."

After calming down for a minute or so the heat was returning to his face. He fingered the edge of another button at the top of his shirt, popping it free as he took a few steps closer to where she stood.

"He does shitty, scummy things because 'e's a lowlife. Plain and bleedin' simple."

Alex shook her head in disagreement and disbelief, feeling herself grow dejected the longer this went on. For Harding, yes, but for herself too. In the past few weeks she had seen more of Gene's empathy, and though she realised it wasn't something he intended to show in public she had believed that in the end it was a force stronger than his physicality and that, little by little, he wouldn't be able to avoid using it in the workplace as well as behind closed doors, when it was just the two of them.

"Not worth wastin' yer breath, Bolly, because nothin''s gunna change. Best talkin' to 'im in terms that he can understand."

He raised a fist upwards, his knuckles flashing bright white as he tensed them. Her stomach turned over, repulsed and furious with him for being blind-sided.

"So simplistic," she muttered under her breath, before raising her head to look at him. "I've been doing cavemen a disservice all these months. At least they have the intelligence to look further than just past their nose all the time."

His eyes went from steel blue to almost pitch black in the matter of milliseconds, jaw setting rigid.

"You are hangin' by a thread, Drake."

Every pair of eyes in the room were trained upon them, all efforts to act distracted by other tasks utterly futile. Alex was aware that the whole atmosphere of CID had been consumed by their latest professional disagreement but she didn't care to diffuse it. She continued to stare hard at Gene, his anger at her insolence barely contained, and pondered her next move. Part of her was driven by his eruptions; she wanted to see how far she could push him, wondered if something as simple as causing him to completely lose it could make the whole universe disappear.

She remained calm, yin in the face of yang, pursing her lips while he steadily boiled.

"Ten minutes," she offered measuredly. "After that, we'll have seen the back of Harding for good. I can say that with confidence."

Gene balled hands into his pockets, head craning back. "What you gunna do that's so bloody miraculous? Wave a magic wand? Pull a rabbit out of yer knickers?"

From behind her, Chris sniggered.

"Sorry, Ma'am," he said quietly, sinking down into his chair shame-faced as Alex threw him a look.

She turned her attention back to Gene. _Standing there so bloody self-assured, thinking he's got the answers to everything._

"I'm going to psycho-analyse him," she prolonged each word purposely, stepping forward so that she was toe-to-toe with him, defiant towards his thunderous expression. "It won't take long, I've already done the hard work." She couldn't resist smirking at him before she continued. "Something that you're shit-scared of."

Alex felt the breath from between his lips hit her face; at least he didn't reek of booze this time around.

"One, I've never been shit-scared in my entire life," he uttered, his face hard and unreadable to anyone other than her. "And two," – he jabbed a finger harshly against her shoulder, spittle ricocheting against her cheeks – "nobody gives a tart's furry cup about your namby-pamby, crackpot, useless bloody psycho-twattery!"

She remained in place for a few seconds, eyes barely blinking up towards him as he stood face-to-face with her, tremors possessing his body as aftershocks from his tirade.

Gathering herself she went to her desk, leaving Gene simmering in the centre of the room. As far as anyone was concerned things were back to normal, ashes scattered around all of them as the inferno died out. She gave him a last long look before she delved underneath the desk, bringing out a cardboard box. Calmly, she started to pick up the objects littering the top, placing them one-by-one inside the container.

"What the bleedin' hell do you think you're doin', Drake?" Gene questioned, cottoning on to what was happening.

"I'm quitting, Guv," Alex replied, clutching the pencils from the pot that stood on the desk and throwing them into the open box. "Seeing as you have a very clear opinion of my – " she waggled her fingers in the air – " 'psycho-twattery', then I can't really see the point in me staying." She took a deep breath, holding her nerves together with the loosest of knots. "I'd wish you the best of luck, but I'm sure you won't need it."

She kept her eyes focused down, unable to see Gene's raging and disbelieving expression.

"You don't do anything without my say so," he bellowed, darting to follow her about the confined space of the office. "You don't bloody _breathe_ without my say so."

Alex ignored him as she walked breezily, nearly mowing down Ray as he entered the room again.

"Congratulations, DS Carling," she greeted him, slamming her nameplate into his chest, "you've earned yourself a promotion."

"Eh?" a perplexed Ray swivelled round, not quick enough to catch an explanation as his superior headed for the exit, her heels clicking noisily against the floor.

"Drake!" Gene called out, apparently held frozen at the barrier between Fenchurch East and the outside world. "You get your bony arse back 'ere this second. Drake." His voice raised a few decibels, but with little effect. "DRAKE!"

She was halfway to Luigi's by the time he gave up on calling her to come back, with only a single tear escaping to run down her cheek, surely caused by the sting of the bitter wind.

* * *

The sofa was a perfectly good place to sulk, and she had stayed nestled there, her knees pulled up to her chest, almost ever since she had arrived home. Luigi read her expression as she had stormed in, choosing to ignore the glassiness of her eyes, calling out to 'Signorina Drake' softly – a sharp contrast to what she'd had to put up with minutes previously. She returned his concerned glances with a shaky smile, reassuring him that she was perfectly fine before heading for the staircase towards the back of the restaurant, wanting nothing more than to change out of her work clothes and into her scruffs.

Leave the whole day behind her, though it was only the middle of the afternoon.

"It is a hard job being a police officer, Signorina," the kindly restaurateur uttered after her.

"Yes," Alex replied wearily, "I don't suppose you'd want to swap for a while?"

Wearing a smile Luigi shook his head. "All that fighting, it is not in my nature. I prefer to love instead."

She prickled as she imagined trading places with the little Italian; while he could hold his own perfectly well in his own domain, his placid nature would be trampled upon within five minutes of sharing an office with Gene.

On her way up the stairs she had considered trotting back down and asking Luigi for the biggest bottle of house rubbish he had behind the counter, far past caring about the wager between her, Gene and the rest of the team. It wasn't the angel on her shoulder so much as her sense of pride that called her back from the edge; that particular battle was one which she was able to win, even though she and Gene were strictly speaking on the same side. But she wasn't with him every hour of the day – _thank God –_ and so she had no idea that he wasn't sneaking off to some back-street pub when nobody else was around. All she had was his word and up until today she had held that in some regard.

It wasn't even their latest slanging match that had left her so defeated. She faced the facts that Gene was always going to look to undermine her for however long she stayed around, no matter how close they got. In a way it probably tempted him to do it all the more. Controlling his feelings, keeping a distance – which is precisely what she needed to be doing when it came to him.

 _Christ, Alex, things must be dire if you're looking to take a page out of his book._

Still, he was the easiest target to take it out on. The one she could depend upon come what may, guarding her at every turn whilst he pissed all over her years of training and expertise, reducing her to a pair of frilly undergarments.

She closed her eyes in the silence, neglecting to switch the television on to be on the safe side. She really wasn't in the right frame of mood to receive any cryptic messages through the transmissions on the screen, and was half-scared that she might do something drastic if she happened to be confronted by the images that usually brought her comfort while she was stuck in this mixed-up world.

 _Stuck_. Her heart did go out to George Harding, currently languishing happily in his cell, safe for a few hours from cutting into himself with a blunt blade, going round in endless circles with no way of escaping.

She knew that she was strong and she had no intention of giving up. But sometimes fighting got so tiring, she wanted to loosen her grip for a little while. Her memories of Molly were increasingly hazy and to her horror she could go days without remembering that her daughter even existed, so consumed had she become by this existence.

A heart monitor was bleeping in the background somewhere, the noise it was making getting steadily flattened. Voices echoing somewhere in the distance.

 _Stay with us, Alex._

 _It's no good; we're losing her._

 _Time of death..._

Her eyes flew open in shock, her whole body felt like it was convulsing. She looked over to the clock on the sideboard, its bright digital display reading 21.06. Perhaps she had gone to sleep for a while, though she was having trouble remembering; surely that many hours couldn't have gone past so unnoticed.

The knocking against the door didn't startle her particularly, and as she rubbed her eyes she moved to reply to it verbally, knowing instinctively who it belonged to.

"Go away, Gene."

She stretched her limbs as she got up, feeling her spine roll and crack slightly.

The knocking continued.

"Bolly. Open up, will yer?"

 _Oh, it's 'Bolly' now, is it?_ she thought drily, putting the lid back on the open tub of ice cream and taking her time as she moved around the flat. _Must have realised what a prick he was being. Either that, or he actually needs my 'psycho-twattery' for something, not that he'd actually admit to it._

"Come on. I've got better things to do than stand out 'ere all night."

"Well, don't let me stop you," she replied, her throat hoarse from their earlier tete-a-tete. "You do your thing and I'll do mine. I thought that's how we're playing it now?"

He groaned in dissatisfaction at her words. "Verbal deal's bindin', Bolly. Knew I should 'ave got somethin' down on paper though, when it comes to you."

She fought to keep the smirk off her face, resolving to keep the act up for a little while longer. Trouble was, she was exhausted.

"I, um – " he stopped mid-sentence, "I just wanna check you're alright. That yer haven't done somethin' stupid, like 'ave a scrap with the furniture."

She leant against the doorframe, her heart stuttering at the thought that he was genuinely concerned about her as opposed to covering his own back.

"I'm fine," she answered, finding it hard to be completely convincing when she couldn't look him in the eyes. Honestly, that would have been even worse.

There was more than a singular beat of silence and she felt deep discomfort at it; truth be told, she was more at ease when they were screaming and shouting at one another.

"I'll put it in terms you can understand," she picked up, her hand reaching out to skim over the plane of the door. "Piss off, Gene."

He didn't reply while her words lingered in the air around her, and neither did she move from where she was standing, one hand pressed against the back of the door. She sighed heavily, and realised that he could probably hear every breath she took.

 _Stupid, stubborn bastard._

Alex wrenched the door open, her eyes narrowing as she took him in, his hands empty where he would usually be clutching onto two glasses and a bottle of wine or scotch, whatever took his fancy at that particular hour.

"No peace offering?" she remarked after a few moments, guarding the entrance to the flat.

"I'm not good enough for yer, Bolly?" he said, the sincere look he wore lighting up his face.

She smiled weakly, despite herself. "All things considered, I suppose you'll have to do."

It took her less than a few seconds to move, clearing the way for him to come through. He seemed more surprised, staying put for a moment or two before accepting the silent invitation, sniffing as he passed her.

He didn't take up his usual place on the sofa, electing to stay standing instead and eyeing her with suspicion.

"Where's yer fightin' spirit gone?" he questioned her a bit more softly than in his usual interrogative style, thinking that she looked a bit peaky. "Thought you were goin' to push me 'ead first down those stairs for slaggin' yer off."

She shrugged as she met his eyes again. "I'm tired, Gene."

He wasn't a hundred per cent sure if he was buying that; she didn't seem herself somehow, like a light had gone out within her. Not the fiery Bolly Knickers that he found so unbelievably sexy, though he still definitely wouldn't say no, even when she was wearing baggy pants and a ridiculous jumper that swamped her frame.

"Didn't mean what I said, y'know. About the psychiatry."

" _Psychology_ ," she murmured, a reflex action.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, knowing he was absolutely shit at saying sorry. He'd got better at it in the past few years, but he was still rubbish.

"You're a good copper," he straightened his shoulders and lifted his head to look at her. "Not sayin' I've got the faintest clue of what you're on about 'alf the time, but you do the job well."

It wasn't the most eloquent or grovelling apology she had ever heard – _hell, he hadn't even said the word_ – but coming from Gene, it was high praise indeed.

"Thank you," she muttered.

He curled his lip, nodding his head in receipt of her acceptance. His overcoat swished out beneath him as he took the peace between them as sign to take his seat on the sofa. Alex moved towards the kitchen, filling two glasses half up with water.

"I didn't want you struttin' in there and chattin' to Harding because I thought you were gunna talk shite."

Her eyebrows raised towards him; _so much for the olive branch being offered, he might as well have snapped it in two._

He ran a hand through his hair, watching as she took small sips from her glass.

"I didn't want you goin' in because I knew that he'd laugh at yer." His eyes were clear; she watched as his throat bobbed. " 'e doesn't want help, not of that kind. You mean well, Bolly, but it's wasted on people like 'im. All he'd do is throw it back in yer face."

"And there I was thinking you were just being a bastard."

"Yeah, well don't go spreadin' it round."

She managed a small chuckle, threading her fingers at the back of her scalp.

"You are comin' back, aren't yer?" Though he was just next to her, his voice sounded strangely distant.

Alex smiled. "Of course I am."

She hadn't been serious about quitting Fenchurch East, but she had to wonder what would have happened if something worse had transpired between them. Would she have anywhere else to go, or would she be confined to her flat forever? Or even worse, stuck in some swirling void?

"Good," Gene nodded, the brilliant blue of his eyes staring into her. "That poodle 'ead of Ray's doesn't need to get any bigger."

He slugged back his water, circling the glass within his palm.

Alex shifted where she sat, feeling restless but rather guilty.

"I need to call it a day," she said, shifting forward marginally on the sofa. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Before she could move much further, Gene's fingers wrapped about her wrist.

"Kickin' me out already, Bolly? I reckon I'm only 'alfway back to bein' in yer good books, if that."

"I've forgiven you, Gene," she replied wearily, but accompanied by a genuine smile. "I've got a splitting headache. I just need to sleep it off and I'll be right as rain in the morning."

A boyish smirk drifted onto his face. "I know a good cure for 'eadaches. Works every time."

She tutted, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. "I've said I've forgiven you. You don't need to use sex to get round me."

He pulled her back further against the sofa, closer to where he was sitting, his knees set apart.

"I could read yer a bedtime story, then."

Her head filled with amusing images of Gene clad in a smoking jacket and cravat, oversized book in his hands, but her stomach soured as they were quickly replaced by vivid memories of her father with the worn copy of _The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe_ , giving reassuring smiles in the pauses at perilous parts of the chapters.

She shook away the thoughts quickly.

"I'd prefer the sex."

The smirk was on the verge of becoming a full-on grin.

"Correct answer. Never liked that Jackanory shite."

Alex watched as he stood, his back to her for a few seconds. He slung off his coat and his suit jacket in the general direction of the corner of the room, dragged his loosened tie messily over his head and unbuttoned enough of his shirt that she got a flash of gold chain and bare chest, which came as a surprise to her. Her eyes were transfixed and she was aware of her pulse starting to thud harder as he rolled up his shirtsleeves past his elbows.

"The Gene Genie's 'ere to grant you three wishes," he uttered, failing to ignore the way her mouth had dropped open, her legs pulled up. "Though if you don't mind, Bols, I'm gunna hijack the first one."

She was a little lost for words, half-wondering whether she hadn't fallen into a deep, coma-like sleep. He offered a hand to her and she took it as though in a trance, letting him bring her to her feet.

"I'd say it could wait 'til tomorrow," he began, eyes roaming her gorgeous face, "but y'see, I might not be feelin' as generous then. Bastards might get in me path, rub me up the wrong way."

It was a total lie. No amount of scummy dickheads would ever stop him from giving her everything she wanted and a bit more on the side, especially not when she looked as fantastic as she did every second of the day, even in her scruffs.

"Well," Alex released a slightly shaky breath, her gaze locked with his, "I don't see how I could possibly refuse."

How on earth he had the power to do that – transform her from being in the least sexiest mood to have her almost crawling on the floor with fevered desire, and all in the matter of a minute – she didn't have the faintest idea. But she wasn't complaining; she was simply intrigued about where the ride would take her.

His eyes lowered to her chest, swamped by her heavy jumper.

"Yer goin' to want to take that off. Goin' to get hot and bothered quite quickly, Bolly."

Her curiosity was piqued further by such a promise. As if on command she brought both hands to the hem, taking the garment off in one swift motion, exposing the obvious fact that she had discarded her bra when she had got home.

"Fuck me," Gene muttered, not quite under his breath. Always throwing him off his stride, even when he was certain that he was the one in the driving seat. Those luscious lips of her curving into a little smirk; she knew exactly what effect she had. "Come 'ere."

She shuffled along in her bare feet, assisted by Gene's arm slung around her waist. His lips grazed like a firebrand along her skin and then his mouth was firmly on her right breast, kissing and teething and lathing his tongue over her nipple, coaxing it with not too much effort on his part into full hardness.

She couldn't stop her head from lolling back. "Geneeeee," his name lengthened between her lips, "mmmm...it's always so nice when you do that..."

Her fingers were tickling the hair at the nape of his neck, sending goosepimples to rise upon his bared forearms. It hadn't been his intention to go to town on her tits but if he could be thought of in any universe in existence as Superman then they were his Kryptonite; he couldn't stop himself from getting distracted. Her soft little sighs filled his ears as he trailed his mouth along; _wouldn't do to leave the other one out_. He swirled his tongue, biting very gently. This might be _nice_ for both of them, but he had plans to make her feel much better than that.

She mourned the loss of his mouth on her from the second he released her, but tingles raced through her at the look in his eyes as he pulled back. Pure desire, encapsulated. He grabbed a cushion in one hand and hastily arranged another, pushing her back onto it and the sofa.

"Sit yerself comfortably," he ordered, lowering himself onto the floor.

A giggle escaped from her. "And then you'll begin?"

He raised his eyes to hers, drifting to her smart and perpetually kissable mouth.

"You'll just 'ave to wait and see, won't you?"

She sunk down all too briefly, needing to raise her hips to assist him in peeling her tracksuit bottoms from her legs.

Gene did his best to pay little attention to the scrap of black lace covering her for the time being, leaning over her half prone body, mapping her with his lips, prolonging the kisses for as long as he could. The strands of his hair tickled against her bare skin while he went on his way, and Alex couldn't help herself from giggling in delight. He teased his tongue at her navel, rearing back a little when she writhed in unexpected delight, placing one palm against her stomach just in case she did anything else unpredictable.

He was on his knees before her, his other hand running up the back of one of her calves. She caught only a glimpse of his beautiful eyes from where she was, her view obscured anyway but then his head dipped down completely out of sight. His mouth nuzzled the inside of her thigh, the hand on her stomach having slipped to trace along the waistband of her knickers. She was incredibly close to feeling as though her heart might burst out of her chest.

He looked up again, his gaze scorching. His hand slipped yet lower, almost splaying flat against her over the knickers.

"You are up for this, aren't yer, Bols?" He was fairly sure if her reactions so far were anything to go by, but it never hurt to check. "There's always another time."

 _Oh my god, is he joking – after doing all that?_

Her reply came as quick as a shot. "God, yes, I'm up for it."

To reinforce her answer, she parted her thighs that bit wider.

He moved his thumb and forefinger steadily, rubbing through the fabric and happily finding it dampening increasingly.

"That's good, then."

Alex felt the friction of the lace against her heated folds, the stroke of Gene's fingers working in a rhythm. She loosened the hold on her inhibitions, purring with pleasure as her head leant against the back of the sofa.

The view he had of her at the present moment was one which he had only previously fantasised about – head back, hands clutching onto the sofa cushions, lovely legs wide open for him. _Bloody magnificent_. His heart pounded heavier; it was more intense than having his finger on the trigger, held in wait to aim and fire.

"Time to get these off," he mumbled mainly for his own benefit, psyching himself up. He heard her give a little murmur of approval, her hips lifting once more.

In a matter of seconds she was bare and glistening before him. His mouth went dry at the sight – which wasn't ideal, all things considered. He leant forward, already glad of the cushion beneath his knees, huffing a breath of air towards her centre.

A rasp came from her throat at the divine sensation, his warm breath still cooler than the heat between her thighs. She shifted her head, contemplating on whether she should let her own hand creep down and touch herself in the time that she was waiting for him to do _something_. The need was stronger than she'd ever felt, and she could hardly believe that he was going to do what could be the only possible thing that could follow, given the positions they were both in.

This was it. Now or never. His nerves were shuddering beneath his skin, adrenaline kicking in and searing through him. He wasn't in the habit of running away from anything and he wasn't going to start now. He wanted to do this. He'd made up his mind on a quiet afternoon in the office; _time to stop pissing about, Genie-boy._ He didn't want to be a selfish bastard, not when it came to her. There was not one bloody shred of doubt that she was the type of bird who would thoroughly enjoy a decent bit of muff-diving. Insisting upon it from a bloke was probably the first thing written in the feminist handbook.

He'd toyed with the idea of doing a bit of research first; it wouldn't have been the first time that he'd mentioned to Ray – discreetly and without having to really say anything – if he could borrow a couple of blue flicks from his extensive collection. In the end it felt wrong. He just needed to use his instinct, which was always pretty spot-on when it came to Bolly, or at least it had been so far. His hands lingered at the back of her thighs, fingertips brushing the curve of her arse. Best just to get stuck in.

Except he starts slow, using the very tip of his tongue to nudge at her, tracing and tickling over her folds this way and that. It's not that he's being a jessie about it; it's all for her benefit. She loves the tease, he knows – and he does as well, at least when it comes to her. It helped that she looked beautiful and tasted bloody good too. Not precisely like champagne, but close enough that he couldn't tell the difference. He used a touch more pressure, taking the full tour, massaging as much of her arse that he had access to while his tongue followed every path he could find.

Her head was all over the place, her legs on another plain entirely. Even as it was happening, it seemed unfathomable. Gene Hunt was going down on her. She didn't deny that she'd had the dreams, too many times over to keep count, but she'd never honestly imagined that it would become a reality. Another of his hidden depths coming to light. In the haze of feeling as though she was being pulled apart in all different directions she registered his tongue flattening against her, licking maddeningly slowly but absolutely perfectly. Her hips wriggled in response and a loud yelp left her lips. _Oh god, he's good at this. Incredibly good._ He'd had to have done it before, surely. Alongside the differing waves of building ecstasy she felt a small pang of jealousy. She knew she shouldn't be; experience was a good thing. He's focusing on nothing but her right now and that was all that mattered.

His hands rising up to stroke her sides, his tongue lapping at her, his lips closing over her. Those were the only things that mattered. _Jesus_ , most definitely.

Gene went yet further forward, quite happily letting himself be consumed by Bolly, her scent, her taste. One of his hands lowered and he used the backs of his fingers to brush where his tongue wasn't at any one time. Judging by the way she was arching her hips upwards, pressing against his mouth, she was certainly enjoying what he was doing. He took another long lick, humming from the back of his throat as he passed over.

The vibrations from the sounds of approval he made went straight to her clit and she tensed her thighs, only vaguely remembering that she ought not to crush his head while it was settled between her legs. Her hand threaded in that mane of hair, her fingers gliding through the strands. Again, she had to be careful not to dig her nails into his scalp as she felt the tips of his fingers nudging at her clit, rubbing and stroking.

"Oh my god, Gene!" she screeched out, cresting the waves with ease.

Her legs had lifted so that her heels were now digging firmly into his shoulders. He pulled his head back while his hand remained in place to stimulate her; he needed to get a view on this before the next step, knowing that it was important that he get it right. She was still wriggling and writhing about just with the touch of his fingers; God only knows what she'd be like in a minute or two, he reckoned he might have to hold his arm over her stomach to keep her in place.

"You look gorgeous, Alex," he rasped, hoping the affirmation would only add to her arousal. And she did; every bit of her, absolutely stunning. He could get nothing else right in the rest of his life and he'd live off the memory of this triumph forever.

He trailed his thumb down over her swollen folds, parting them tenderly. He was sure he felt her shudder before he put his tongue back into place, flicking over her with light strokes.

The pulses ran steadily through Alex like tiny electric shocks, her breathing getting shallower with every little lick and flick.

His arm clamped down over her while he worked his way up higher, a little further still, until he hit the jackpot. He took her hard clit between his lips, alternating between sucking and trailing his tongue in little circles. While his mouth was occupied in showing that little sod who was boss round here, he slid two fingers inside her wet heat, pumping in and out steadily.

 _Jesus bloody Christ._ His tongue, his mouth, his fingers, his free hand reaching up to seize a breast and play with the bud of her nipple. He was everywhere all at once, conquering her completely. The only thing she craved at that very moment was a long, deep kiss, but he was on a mission and it would have been incredibly rude to interrupt that. Not to mention that she liked his lips exactly where they were for the time being, so much that she begged him not to stop with pleas that became increasingly hard to decipher.

He pushed away the thought that his jaw was killing him and his tongue felt as though it was about to drop off at any second and carried on, a touch surprised at how much he was relishing it himself, his burgeoning erection heavy between his legs. He shifted to get more comfortable, hoping that she wouldn't be tipped over completely as he was planning to give her the seeing-to of her life after this little escapade was done. He licked and sucked at her, varying the speed so as to keep her on her toes. Within the minute her heels slackened against him, her limbs going rigid. She wasn't far off, so he took the softly-softly approach with his tongue and lips and instead picked up the pace with his fingers.

She was rapidly losing control, holding on only by the skin underneath her fingernails. In the next second she was clinging on to nothing but air, her body feeling too small to contain everything she felt, her soul flying high and free. The sounds she was making were anything but dignified and given that it was still fairly early in the night the whole of Luigi's could probably hear her scream out her euphoria.

 _Oh, good God in heaven._ Thousands of tingles were racing through her at the speed of knots and she didn't know when they were going to stop.

 _Fucking hell_. He had a fair idea that it might go well, but he wasn't expecting _that_. Her legs were actually visibly shaking.

He brought his arm away from where it had been braced over her stomach and extricated the hand that had been buried in her slowly, soothing both palms at the back of her thighs. If he put them anywhere else he was worried she might shoot off like a rocket. Once she had seemed to have recovered sufficiently, he wiped his mouth on his forearm. Bolly all over him; it was the stuff of so many of his dreams.

"Enjoy yourself, Bols?" he asked, rather pointlessly.

"Mmmm," she answered, unable to string more than a couple of words together for a few minutes. "God...Gene."

"There you go again, treatin' me like I'm the second comin'." He couldn't stop himself from smirking at his own comment. "Though play yer cards right and there'll be more than the second in store tonight."

He got up from the floor slower than usual, hampered by the fact that he was sporting an epic hard-on.

"I tell ya, Bols, your performance got me fired up an' all." He looked at her, sprawled out like a cat, one hand resting over her tits and the other brushing her thigh absent-mindedly. A sated smirk crafting her lips, eyelashes fluttered against the crescents of her cheeks. "I 'ope that headache's buggered off."

A laugh bubbled up within and escaped her, her entire being completely blissful. "Oh, you nailed it completely, DCI Hunt."

He admitted to getting turned on all the more when she called him that in these type of situations, though he didn't really mind any moniker she gave him so long as she screamed it at least once, and that had already been crossed off the list tonight.

"Just doin' me job," he muttered, unable to hide his pride. "Speakin' of which, you gunna give me a clue about those other two wishes?"

She blinked her eyes open, looking at him looming over her. "More of the same would do."

He huffed, pretending to be disgruntled. "You need to let me gob 'ave a bit of a rest first, Bols. Think I'm goin' to 'ave to go through an enforced silence for a while, me tongue's that worn out."

Alex laughed, the feeling gradually coming back to her limbs and her body finding its form once more. She sat up, her feet resting on the cushion where Gene had previously been cemented, but didn't stay there for long. Her smile was natural as Gene placed an arm around her waist, helping her up like a true gentleman.

"I think you've left me a bit speechless too," she chirped, her arms draping around his shoulders.

"That's a bloody first," Gene barked back, though his hands were tender upon her.

She smiled rather soppily at him, the after-effects of her orgasm playing havoc with her senses.

"I did miss one thing, though."

His eyebrows quirked, his heart sinking a little. He thought he'd covered all of the bases, both figuratively and literally.

"This."

She leaned forward, her naked body pressing up against his still-clothed one, though his cock prodded her obviously. Her fingers brushed his neck and she took in a breath before their lips met for a kiss that lasted for well over a minute. He eased his tongue into her mouth and she could taste traces of herself on him, the excitement fizzing in her stomach.

Her hazy look had transferred onto him when they pulled away from one another, hands still caressing when lips had stopped for the time being.

"Fair do's. I do like a good bit of neckin' with you, Bols."

She smiled, pushing his hands away from where they were wandering to her arse somewhat reluctantly. He kept a watchful gaze on her as she sauntered over the floor, purposely heading in a certain direction. As though held by a magnet attached to her, he followed faithfully, getting rid of his shirt completely. One less thing to worry about.

Alex halted at the doorway to the bedroom, concealing half of her body from view, admiring the increased eyeful she was getting from him. She held out her arm unthinkingly, her heart lurching when Gene took hold of her hand, stroking her fingers between his.

He raised their entwined hands to his lips, placing a kiss upon her skin and leaving her lost for words once more. She could only tell him what she felt by carrying on with that 'necking', and for some reason – though there wasn't any real need to – closing the door behind them.

Not shutting out the world; only narrowing it for the time being.

* * *

Gene woke slowly; he was awake but kept his eyes closed, refusing to let the increasing sunlight dictate his habits and make him move before he was good and ready to. Of course his usual routine had shifted of late – despite his general dislike of change he found himself altering in little ways so as not to disgruntle Alex. Certainly, he removed one of the 's's' from his daily ritual, waiting until he got to the station to take care of that. Wouldn't do to offend Bolly's delicate sensibilities – _though most of the time she was anythin' but bleedin' delicate._ He had started to prefer waking up at hers instead of in his own bed; for one, her bed was a lot comfier, doing wonders for straightening out the knots in his spine.

The nagging voice at the back of his head – the one he'd done his damnedest to ignore, except it only ever got louder and more persistent – told him that she was the reason for this new preference. Not her fancy sheets or the fact that she wasn't more than a few stones' throw away from CID. Just Bolly being Bolly, pure and simple.

One arm stretched out beside him and he felt the memory of her body, the warmth and the sheets that had barely left any creases where she had been sleeping. Traces of perfume all over the pillow as well as the scent that belonged solely to her. The next best thing to reaching out and touching her, but trouble was it wasn't anywhere near good enough.

His ears pricked up and from the short distance he heard the sound of running water. Mystery solved. His mind fixed intently on the image of her in the shower, hair slick to her scalp, droplets falling down the curve of her back down to her arse. Working soap all over her slippery skin, sighing aloud as she massaged her tits. If he listened closely enough he might hear her whisper his name as she did so. _Fuck's sake._ He'd fast forwarded to her towelling herself dry, being thorough as she dipped her hand between her legs. The whisper turning into a high-pitched moan, her other hand propping herself against the wall as she slowly dissolved.

The weight in his right hand was half the usual morning glory, half the product of conjuring the tempting image of an entirely naked Alex Drake sorting herself out in a grand fashion. He passed his fingers over lazily, gripping with a little more force when, somewhat embarrassingly, he was only getting harder.

"Behave yerself," he whispered beneath the sheets, knowing that she'd go berserk if he made a mess of her freshly-laundered bed linen.

Besides, he was remaining hopeful that she'd saunter out and give him something to get his day off to an even better start.

He'd slipped back down onto the pillow, hand still resting protectively over Sergeant Rock and the family jewels, and by the time she was out and humming a tune that floated gradually towards his ears he appeared for all intent and purpose to be dead to the world.

He didn't flinch when her hand started ruffling through his hair – _though it felt ruddy nice, she most definitely had magic in those fingertips_ – and managed not to stir at the feel of her lips upon his forehead.

"Wake up, sleepy Gene," she uttered in a hush, apparently finding something hilarious as she broke into soft giggles.

"Someone stick a feather up your arse, Bols?" he muttered after a couple of minutes, powerless after her fingers had dipped, stroking along his jaw.

"No." She answered with yet more giggling.

Anyone else and he'd find it insufferable. It suited her, and he found himself even craving to hear more.

"Time's it?"

Her voice was thick and sultry without even trying – or maybe it was just his wishful thinking. "Just past ten."

"Jesus Christ, woman!" He bolted so quickly that he was in real danger of snapping something precious off.

She was smiling at him, her palm upon his bicep to hold him in place, working upwards to smooth over his shoulder.

"It's okay," she affirmed, chasing away his confused expression. "It's Sunday. No work."

"Well, praise the bloody Lord."

He didn't dare move another inch, enjoying the slow caress of her touch rousing him further to full alertness. She wasn't starkers, as he had hoped to find her, but instead was draped in a familiar garment, miles too big for her. It wasn't the first time she had chosen to wear his shirt, and he had to admit that she looked bloody well sexy in it, not just because it was easy to get her out of it.

He liked her in his shirts because it made him feel like she was his. She always banged on about leaving, going home – wherever that happened to be. He didn't want her to go. He was secretly terrified that he'd stroll in one day to find her gone, without any identifiable trace to get her back. If he had any power over anything he'd make it so that she could never leave, but perhaps that was only because then he felt like he'd have a not-even half decent shot at keeping her right by his side by his own doing.

Those fingertips went tip-toeing over his skin, leaving sparks in their wake.

"I figured you needed the lie-in."

He smirked in agreement. "Why bother gettin' out of bed at all? It is the day of rest, Bols." He sat further forward, nudging his knees against her half-covered thighs. "Though it depends on what your definition of 'rest' is. I'm definitely plannin' on havin' you on yer back again."

One hand ducked out of the sheets to rest upon her knee, causing the shirt to ride up a little.

"On yer knees too, in several ways."

She hid her gaze from him, and he knew she was merely pretending not to have the same depraved thoughts, making herself look demure. _As if he could be so easily fooled._

"I thought we could make the most of the day off." She picked at a stray thread of cotton on the pillow, and Gene pouted at her having taken her hands away from him. "Go somewhere...a walk down by the river, perhaps."

"Yeah, and probably stumble across a body or two in the process," he countered, "sounds like a ruddy busman's holiday."

She threw her head back, sighing. He was winning her round to his way of thinking, he could tell from the glimmer in her eyes.

"Breakfast, then," she suggested anew, brightness in her tone. "I haven't made you a fry-up yet."

He shrugged, still not convinced. "While you crunch and munch on that muesli rubbish."

Her back straightened while she crossed her legs, her ample chest straining against the fabric of his shirt.

"I am partial to a full English every now and then, you know."

"Hmm. Didn't think it was posh enough to pass those lips of yours."

He envisioned her getting stuck into a full plate of sausages, eggs and bacon, putting it almost on a par with those thoughts of her steaming away in the shower.

"Right," he announced, shaking himself physically before he got lost deep in the near-living fantasy land of Bolly doing absolutely everything he desired, "pass me that shirt. Need to 'ave a slash."

A thrum of a chuckle rose up, bursting free from her lips. She took a fistful of shirt, holding it closer to her body.

"Since when were you shy about strutting around here like a rooster?"

"Well, I 'ave got a big..."

"Ego, yes," Alex cut him off, the smile rising to her eyes. They flitted across the room, her lips curving as she done up a couple more buttons. "I've got something you can wear for the time being. Your choice – black, red or baby pink."

The mere idea was one of the most ridiculous he had ever heard, and he was quick to make it clear that him wearing one of her dressing gowns would _not_ be happening, not in a whole month of Sundays.

"No," he said pointedly, "I'm not a bloody cross-dresser."

She stuck out her bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering. "While we're doing this, what's mine is yours."

His gaze lowered on instinct to her tits, unfortunately kept from his view. "I don't recall sayin' you could waltz off with my bloody clothes."

"It'd only be between you and me. I'm not planning on blackmailing you."

"Don't care."

There was not a chance in hell he was going to move on this matter.

She stretched out her long legs in front of her, leaning in closer. "Not even if I tell you that I find men wearing women's clothes downright irresistible?"

He scoffed loudly. "If that was the case, you would 'ave copped off at one of those weirdo gender-bender clubs by now. Besides," he took the bedsheets in both fists, shimmying them down to below his waist, "I think I know better about what you find irresistible, Bols."

Her gaze took a few moments to settle upon the source of so much of his pride, a smirk finding its way onto her face and one elegant hand reaching out.

 _Bloody 'ell, yes..._

She snatched back before she so much as brushed against him, blood-red fingernails a blur.

"This breakfast isn't going to cook itself." She smiled as she got to her feet, keeping the shirt on her flawless body. "One sausage, or two?"

His face fell as she seriously walked away, leaving him riled up, horny and unsatisfied.

"Bolly!" he called after her, knowing it was fruitless. "Come back 'ere and take that ruddy shirt off!"

If she got any spitting oil on it then she was going to be the one to pay the dry-cleaning bill. Come to think of it, he had a lot of dirty laundry that he could charge her for.

He flopped onto his back, all ready to wallow in frustration, until the lure of temptation proved too much. The Gene-Genie didn't go down without a fight, after all. She was prancing around the kitchen when he found her, dancing to some tuneless shit on the radio. He turned whatever it was off, causing her to groan in disappointment.

Before she could turn around to accuse him of being a grumpy git, he hopped over the freezing cold tiles, snugging at her back. His hard-on was poking her insistently and he made sure to press his weight against her, so that she could be in no doubt of what he felt.

"Very rude to go off and leave a bloke to his own devices, Bols."

He rubbed up her like a tom cat marking its territory.

"Ungrateful sod. I'm making you your favourite breakfast here."

"Mmmm," he murmured against her neck while his hands wrapped around her waist. "You got everything I want, Bollykecks. A cook in the kitchen, a whore in the bedroom."

"Oi!"

She was about to slap his hands away, he could tell, so he moved his lips quickly, nuzzling kisses against her tender skin. He gave peck after peck, letting the tip of his tongue dart out. Soon enough he could feel her melting in his hands, another of those gorgeous little giggles escaping her.

"I tell you what I fancy," his voice lowering to a raw growl, "Bolly on toast."

She laughed, not even attempting to wriggle free from his grip.

"Actually...sod the toast."

His fingers easily unbuttoned the few buttons she had done up, parting his shirt on her body and slipping his hands inside. One wandering up, the other dipping down.

A loud gasp left her mouth, sending ripples of excitement to reverberate through to him. Her skin was silky smooth from the shower, she was squeaky clean but he wanted to make her filthy again. Saying that, she hadn't done a very good job at drying herself off, he smirked to himself.

In a matter of seconds he flipped her around, crashing his mouth against hers. Her leg hooked over his hip, the tip of his cock grazing her folds. He wondered for a brief few seconds whether the fridge or the table would do a better job of taking their combined weight. A pan hissed and before they got carried away he saw a flash of panic light in her eyes.

She reached one hand around to turn off the cooker, her senses all over the shop.

"Let me just put the plates in the oven..."

"Bols," he pulled her hand back, kissing her palm before letting her grasp his shoulder, "it's only a few bloody rashers of bacon. Forget about 'em."

As he slid into her, her answering moan doing a good job of sating his desire all on its own, he thought that he could feast off Alex Drake for the rest of his life and be a very happy man indeed.

So much for Sunday being the day of rest.

* * *

 **A/N: All I'm going to say is: lucky Alex. (hee hee)**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

This house was far too big for one person, especially when the only rooms being regularly used were the bathroom and front bedroom. Half the time he didn't even make it up the stairs, collapsing exhausted on the sofa to get a night's kip. He spent so little time here nowadays that he could barely recount the pattern of the wallpaper. Something blue and white, he thought; he vaguely remembered being impressed by the City colours and the fact that he wouldn't need to change it.

It was never meant to be a long-term arrangement, but the weeks had turned into months and the months into years and he couldn't be bothered looking for anywhere else. He was a busy man; he didn't have the time to spend pissing about with smarmy estate agents who thought they knew it all. He only needed somewhere to get his head down and store his stuff, though most of what he valued was hung up in his office. He supposed part of him was still in denial about being here in the first place; no matter how much it tried to bend and break and mould him he was a Manc through and through. Cut him open, he'd bleed Boddington's mixed with the River Irwell. The less he could get tied to London, all the better.

 _Well, it was a bit bloody late for that._

Whenever he thought about his beloved home city now it was accompanied by a heady mix of anger, frustration and sorrow. _Things never stay the same._ Careworn buildings get demolished, the land built over. People turn corners, disappear from sight and into thin air. Like they'd never been there in the first place, but those who were left behind knew better.

Not all change was bad, he'd admit that, but he also had to admit that he hadn't seen it coming. Probably a mark of how much distance had grown between them. He was still pissed off that he hadn't been the one to get in there first, although if he was being honest he would never have dared to make the move to end things. That was what marriage was, wasn't it? Comfortable, like a pair of old kecks that had long since seen their Sunday best. Garnered a few holes over the years, some that stretched bigger than others, but nothing that couldn't be patched over or otherwise just happily ignored.

It was the one day that he recalled most vividly out of them all. He'd got mind-wreckingly pissed on their wedding day, and she'd held a grudge about that for the entirety of the fifteen years afterwards. She'd thrown the meal that had gone cold into the rubbish when he rolled home late again from the pub, drew out a ciggie from the packet and held it between her fingers, eyes glaring towards him like he was the one who'd done something wrong.

 _What d'ya mean, yer leavin'? We're doin' alright, aren't we?_

They weren't. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her for longer than half an hour at a time, spending most of his time at work, on the streets or in the pub. Jesus, he couldn't even say when they last had a shag, unless he was too far gone to properly remember.

At least that made sense when she told him why she was walking out on him. Some other bloke, ran a second-hand car dealership.

 _Well, 'e's welcome to you, love. Got you past your best, so I reckon 'e's got the worst part of the deal. Don't envy 'im havin' to drag yer tits up past yer knees once 'e's had a go._

He'd pushed the boundaries too far and earnt himself a hard slap across the face. The missus was a good aim but her blows hadn't stung quite as sharply as Bolly's had since, and he found himself judging her for that.

She'd already packed her bags – the crafty cow had clearly thought this through – and announced that she'd be off to her mother's, leaving him sitting dumbfounded on the old sofa, stuffing coming out of one of the arms. And that was that.

Crystal shattered under her high-heeled shoes in a matter of seconds.

 _Who does she think she is? Nobody leaves the Gene-Genie. Unless they end up dead, of course._

 _Like Tyler. Stupid bloody sod, never bloody listening even though I told 'im a thousand times or more._

He liked having the space at first. Could have whatever he liked in the house with none of those poncey ornaments and other rubbish. A darts board in the spare bedroom, a fridge full of curries and ale that he never ended up eating or drinking. Now the dust had gathered on all of the unused surfaces and the silence drove him up the wall and back down again. He could think about bringing lodgers in, he supposed – at least he'd make a bit of extra money, which wouldn't go amiss – but he couldn't think of any variety who wouldn't royally piss him off, even if he didn't have to put up with them for the best part of the day.

There was only one other person he wanted under this roof, only one person he could picture putting her posh trotters up on the sofa cushions and putting fancy food like oysters in the fridge. Filling the bathroom cupboard with all of manner of her girly concoctions and putting her sexy clothes next to his suits in the wardrobe.

And they were very bloody dangerous thoughts to be having. It was bad enough that she encroached upon his kingdom while they were at work; now he was thinking of her coming home with him? He needed his head testing for sure. Oh, she'd be the first to stick her hand in the air and volunteer; she'd have a ruddy field day.

 _Stop it_ , he told himself as he reached for the razor from the pot beside the sink. _The Gene-Genie doesn't need anyone. Least of all someone like her._

All she did was make him doubt himself, throw him off course. Where he used to be shit-hot at sussing things out, the first on the scene and the one who got the most results, she was showing him up and causing him to lose track. He could sense that Supermac and the others above him were having a good laugh behind his back. Gene Hunt, going soft in his old age. Being bettered by a bird. If his self from ten years past could see the way he was now, he'd knock several shades of shit out of him for being such a pansy.

Someone like Bolly. _Alex_. Maybe it said something that the one woman who proved to be his match had a bloke's name. Though thankfully that and the punches she could throw were the only things remotely blokey about her, otherwise he would be very bloody worried indeed.

He pulled a shirt out of the wardrobe – not the first one he could lay his hands on, for a change – and stretched it over his shoulders. Before he even flicked up the collar to put the tie on he could smell her all over it. It was the same one she had frolicked about in making breakfast for the both of them at the weekend, the one he had near torn from her body once things became inevitably heated between them. Turning his head for a moment, he let his eyes fall shut and inhaled deeply. It was almost like she was there in the room, though the heavy silence told him the reality; _if she was 'ere then she'd surely be rabbitin' on about somethin' or the other._

 _Don't get a bleedin' minute's worth of peace with her. You could kiss goodbye to an easy life, that's for certain._

Hmm. Maybe that was the problem beforehand. What was the point in things being easy? Where was the challenge, the thrill of the chase, the even bigger adrenaline hit when you got that collar firmly in your grasp?

He had thought that it would take the shine off things once they'd done the deed. Maybe not just the once; he did have a very long list of filthy fantasies when it came to Bollykecks after all, and he'd crossed most of them off. But once again it seemed that he'd been completely wrong-footed when it came to her. If anything, he found himself wanting her all the more now that he knew the reality more than matched up to his many dreams. Now that he had a thousand accurate images of what she looked like in the throes of passion, the exact way she tasted, sounded, felt. How she reciprocated everything, touching him in just the right ways as well as in ways he'd never dared to hope or dream about, knowing he'd never be so lucky in a million lifetimes.

Even now he wished her fingers were there in place of his, stroking against his neck, delicately dancing and doing things properly where he was all slap-dash, too het up.

She was getting under his skin big style, and not in the way he could easily sort out.

 _Bastard._

He was starting to realise, that while shagging her was all well and good – actually, it was fan-bloody-tastic – it was the other stuff that really got to him. What came after, and sometimes what even came before. Seeing the excitement in her eyes, the different smiles she wore as one moment shifted into another. That ruddy giggling she did that caused warmth to start spinning around in his gut. He'd always felt uncomfortable being all touchy-feely after getting his end away – all he'd want to do was drop into a deep kip – but he didn't mind the way Alex burrowed herself against him, resting her head against his chest and getting a good whiff of his man-stink. He actually liked the feeling of her settled there, pulling her in tighter for a few seconds before he let her roll her away to sleep – something she didn't do enough of for his liking.

 _Sometimes I think she doesn't give a rat's arse about herself. And why not, I don't have the faintest clue. Someone's got to step in and do the job._

Yeah, that's what it was. If she wasn't going to look after herself then he had to do it for her. Show her how much she was worth whenever she whined about not being able to go on. Jesus, retirement couldn't come quickly enough when he was perpetually picking up after others.

But then she followed him there and all, sitting in the space next to his on the sofa, burying her head in a book the size of the Yellow Pages while he stuck _Match of the Day_ on the telly. One of her hands placed over his as he shouted at the screen, telling City not to be such a shower of shite.

 _Jesus Christ, really should give the wick one day's rest from dippin'. She's sendin' me just as doolally as she is._

If he stopped to think, he'd see how ridiculous it was. Surely he would. All this constant sex was frying his brain. The problem was his head was filled with Bolly, from the moment he woke up to the minute he laid his head down on the pillow – or the arm of the sofa.

Bolly, Bolly, Bolly. All bloody day long.

Gene Hunt did love. It was a certain kind of love, granted. Spending his last few bob on a double gin and tonic for the missus. Putting up with the mother-in-law's droning on and gritting his teeth politely. _Another thing he didn't miss_. Going without himself so he was faced with a smile instead of a grimace.

It had been so long that maybe his definition had changed.

He did love, but not like this. Not with these feelings that had crept in, taking him unawares while he'd been looking elsewhere. The feelings he had for her, which he could barely make sense of. Maybe that was the way it would be for the rest of his life. Being slowly brought to the edge by his apparent need to hold her, kiss her, have her by his side for every waking minute.

He wouldn't stand for losing another person he'd put so much of his time and effort into; _what the bleedin' hell was it for, when they just buggered off without a second thought? Left him with dust whirling round his feet and a feeling like he might forget, one day. Days that never came_. With Bolly it wasn't a vague troubling but a genuine fear that socked him hard in the stomach every time he thought about it, whether she'd finally get what she wished for.

 _Well if he could change his mind, then so could she._

 _Get a bloody grip. And stop talkin' to yerself. You might like her, but you don't have to start actin' like her._

But then it was too late for that, when she was in his head – and somewhere else entirely worse.

* * *

Aside from the regularly populated tables Luigi's was deserted, which probably had a lot to do with the infernal racket the little Italian had insisted upon blasting out from the speakers. Christ on a bike, it was worse than all that New Romantic shit and that was saying something. Flamin' opera. He didn't see the point in it. Some bird screeching and squawking at the top of her voice, creating a right din and in a foreign language to boot. A load of cobblers.

Bolly seemed to be enjoying it, though. She'd gone up to the bar expressly to tell Luigi how _wonderful_ it was to have a change in the atmosphere, and now she was sitting there, eyes closed and her head swaying in time to the classical music, the red hoops pinned to her ears smacking her in the chops as she moved to and fro. He eyed the glass in front of her, thinking surely she must have spiked it with something. To be certain he carried out a closer inspection when she slinked off to the ladies', and found that it was exactly the same as what he had. Not Russian-strength vodka, but plain tap water. _Jesus Christ_ , this is what it had come to. It was a good job that he didn't have any plans to go back North because he had a strong suspicion that he would have been barred from entering on account of foregoing booze for a frankly criminal amount of time.

Ray slunk back from the bar, wearing a face like a wet weekend. At least Raymondo diverted attention from his own sorry state.

"Bloody 'ell, this is some kind of joke," he moped, planting the overflowing pints down on the table. "A week after Valentine's Day. By all rights, it should be swarmin' with birds in 'ere."

Bolly returned to the land of the living, resting her elbow upon the table-top, her chin upon her open hand.

"Maybe one of them knew instinctively that Ray Carling was on the prowl, and sent out a signal to the others telling them all to avoid Luigi's like the plague, for their own safety."

"Ha-bloody-ha," Ray replied to her quip with a shake of his head. "Honestly, it's the same every year. You can set yer watch by it. By now half of them have been binned off by their blokes, and they're cravin' attention. Fallin' over themselves to get to the nearest fella with a pulse."

The irony wasn't lost on any of them, except Ray himself who apparently didn't realise that he was tarring himself thick with a less-than-favourable brush.

"They're still sellin' cut-price chocolates and flowers down the one-stop, can't get rid of them quickly enough. Picked up a load for a fiver, got some stashed in me desk just in case any nice ones get picked up off the street."

"Oh, Ray," Bolly piped up again, pretending to swoon in her seat, "you really know how to treat a lady."

"Well, you'll be the one complainin' when I'm gettin' off with a different bird every night of the week."

Her face screwed up in utter confusion at his comeback. "Believe me, DS Carling, your sex life is very low on my list of concerns."

Behind his glass, Gene's lips curled. _I should bloody well hope so_. He looked about for someone to change the subject and sharpish. Anyone or anything, he didn't give a toss. He even found himself looking at Skelton hopefully; there was a first time for everything, or so they said, and perhaps this would be the moment for the dippy sod to come up with something of real substance. Instead, he continued to stare blankly into the distance. Oh well, a miracle was too much to hope for on a Monday night, he supposed.

It was his bit of skirt who broke the silence, drowned out the fat lady's batty warbling.

"So, Ma'am, did any secret admirers reveal themselves to you this year?"

Shaz's eyes lit up like beacons, obviously thriving at the prospect of discussing some girly nonsense. Bolly, on the other hand, had the expression of someone who'd seen a ghost, her blusher-smeared cheeks going white for the briefest of moments before she composed herself quickly.

"Oh no, nothing," she replied, hand fiddling with her hair.

That was the kind of thing that meant something; he'd learnt that from the many interrogations they'd carried out together. Every scumbag who had the audacity to lie to the Gene-Genie touched their nose or scratched the back of their head, before they ended up having an intimate meeting with the wall. _Non-verbal signals, self-touch gestures_. Her voice going round in his head again. _Reassurance that we're in control of our actions, that we won't be found out_.

Bolly leant forward in her seat, keeping eye contact with Granger. A more self-assured pair of stockings you'd never find throughout the whole of London. Or at least, that's what she wanted to portray to everyone.

"It's just another day. To be honest, I hadn't really noticed that it had come and gone."

He'd felt insulted about that, to tell the truth; he'd certainly noticed her coming, more than once. A slight on his esteemed reputation, and yet he couldn't say a thing about it. Course he didn't bother with a card, flowers and chocolates, all that frilly bollocks. It wasn't what she wanted or indeed needed, and he thanked the Lord above that that was the case. By now she recognised that his admiration of her was anything but secret; the others were just too thick, empty-headed or self-obsessed to bother taking any real notice, and it suited him down to the ground. He could get on with things in peace that way; well, as much peace as Bollykecks would allow, anyway.

His body thrummed with the memory of giving her one in one of the interview rooms, the dark walls throwing shadows against them, Bolly with her arse perched upon the desk and her legs spread wide, clinging on to him for dear life. He wouldn't be able to go back into that room again without thinking of the two of them at it, her going to pieces as he hit the right spot over and over. Later that evening they'd headed up the stairs to her place, had a bit of grub with some nice dessert, and then retired to the bedroom. She'd gone on top, which wasn't something he'd done very often – but then again, everything was different when it came to Bolly – but he didn't have many complaints about it, not with how she was writhing and riding him like a champion jockey, letting her hand slide down her body while he thrust lazily into her, not needing to do much in the way of effort. The position seemed to make her come yet harder and he was mesmerised with her flushed face and her tousled hair, gorgeous sights that he feasted upon until she collapsed onto his chest, near-breathless, roused back to life by his hands running up and down her naked back.

 _Jesus, 28 days, and half of them were ticked off. Just his ruddy luck that February was the shortest bleedin' month._

He looked at her, head down, covering any trace. He had the mind to tell them all to piss off so that he could get her alone, tell her to stop trying so hard.

"Oh Ma'am, it's really sad," Shaz intoned, her head tilting to the side, "someone like you, you should be fighting them off."

He pictured a hoard of blokes queuing up to try their chances with Bolly, knowing none of them would last five seconds – they'd have to go through him first, and success from that was not a likely outcome.

"That's sweet of you, Shaz," she answered, her eyes softening, "but I'm doing just fine. I'm very glad that you and Chris have each other, but it's not the beginning and end of everything."

"Probably sayin' that because she's not gettin' any," Ray whispered not very subtly to the aforementioned DC Skelton.

Shaz bit her bottom lip, looking faintly worried.

"I hope you're not gonna kill me, then."

"Why?" Bolly replied, startled.

Shaz fiddled with the straw poking out of her glass. "Well, I thought that you might like a bit of a surprise, like a belated Valentine's thing...I've got this friend who works in Kensington, really landed on her feet. Anyway she knows a few people, and...oh, Ma'am, there's this guy who would be absolutely perfect for you."

Gene straightened in his seat, ears pricking up and his Bolly alarm on red alert. His gaze turned towards her, her mouth hanging open slightly and her expression dazed, one of the rare occasions where the tables were turned and she was caught off guard.

If he hadn't been so keen to hear what she had to say in reply, he would have smiled smugly.

"Oh no," she flustered, arching her shoulders back, "it's thoughtful and everything, but I can't..."

He was getting rather hot under the collar himself, wondering if she was going to blurt it out. He doubted it somehow; she'd be too embarrassed to admit to what was going on between the two of them, even though it would make him prouder than anything. Though, come to think of it, he didn't have a clue exactly what the little arrangement between them could be called. It had spilled over now, for certain, and if it was just about shagging then he thought that he would have been tired of it by now. He wasn't getting any younger, that was for sure.

Anyway, she could be the one to figure it out – seeing as she liked working with problems so much – and let him know about it when she'd come to whatever conclusion there was. It wasn't up to him to bother with all that.

"Oh, go on, Ma'am," Shaz interjected before Bolly could finish her broken thought, "it's been ages since you've... _seen_ anyone."

"Yes, well," Bolly turned a shade of red almost to match her earrings, "some things are best worth forgetting about."

"I think you'd really get on. He's smart and witty, and," Shaz lowered her head towards her superior, "he's really quite tasty, as well!"

"Ey," Chris cut in, looking like a puppy that had been kicked to the gutter, "I'm not sure I like the sound of this."

"Men!" Shaz exclaimed, sounding for all intents and purposes like an echo of Bolly. "You're always so bloody jealous, when there's no reason to be." She turned back from an admonished Chris, sulking into his pint. "Just give it a go, Ma'am. What have you got to lose?"

Bolly pondered for a few moments, her nails drumming against her cheek.

"Nothing, I suppose."

 _She's not seriously contemplatin' this, is she? Granger's barely said anythin' but the bloke already sounds like a sap._

Shaz smiled brighter. "That's the spirit."

She leaned back in her seat, adding a slice of lemon to her half-full glass of water. "So, tell me more about what I'm getting myself into, then."

A smirk crossed Shaz's face and she glanced over to the other end of the table for a few seconds. "Well, his name's Tarquin..."

 _This had to be takin' the piss._

Being largely silent for the course of the evening, he couldn't stop the sudden outburst from tumbling forth.

" _Tarquin_?! What kind of stupid made-up posh-boy name is that when it's at 'ome?"

Shaz, Ray and Bolly all turned their heads to look at him, and he shrugged off what they found so bloody surprising. He did have an opinion, after all.

 _Sounds like some right knobhead, privately educated, full of useless information but not an ounce of common sense between his ears. Actually, sounds exactly like the kind of bloke that Bolly would go after. Maybe she'll be more discernin' now that she's drier than a nun's knickers._

"I'm just kiddin'," Shaz continued, and he shrunk back down in his seat, clutching his glass of sodding water and feeling like a soft-shite. "His _actual_ name is Michael, and he's an architect."

"An architect," Bolly cocked an eyebrow in thought, "I've never been on a date with one of those. Plenty of lawyers, which you'd think I'd have learned my lesson from..."

 _Oh good, a detailed history of her sexual conquests. Precisely what he wanted from an evening's entertainment._

"There you go, somethin' new," Shaz smiled, whilst Ray and Chris exchanged unimpressed looks. "He's six foot one, dark hair, brown eyes...and he's got quite a bit saved up, which has to be a bonus."

She took a long sip from her glass. "Well, I can't deny that he sounds very impressive."

 _Impressive, my bloody arse. He knew exactly what impressed her, and it wasn't even close to fitting the bill of some nancy architect bloke._

"And if it doesn't work out, well..." Shaz nudged her elbow against Bolly's arm, "...you can still have some fun, and then get rid of him!"

The blood began to bubble in his veins hearing the pair of them giggle, the images of Bolly with her legs wrapped around the waist of another bloke, writhing and gasping, burning into his brain and causing him to nearly shatter the glass he was holding into splinters in his hand.

The chatter was becoming indistinguishable, between Bolly and Shaz, and Ray and Chris, leaving him well and truly on the sidelines and he didn't appreciate it.

"Alright," he bellowed, commanding the attention of his team once more, "I'm runnin' a division of police officers, not a ruddy knockin' shop." He made the point of looking accusingly towards Bolly, which turned her usually pretty face sour. "Can we talk about somethin' more fittin' to our status, or is that too much to ask from you reprobates?"

Chris and Raymondo's faces were a picture. There was a time when this kind of conversation would have been right up his street, and the cause of a good roll between the sheets with the missus – or another bird, if she wasn't up for it. Felt like a different lifetime, that.

"We could set you up with someone too, Guv," Shaz exclaimed, exuding exactly the kind of relentless enthusiasm that was driving him closer to breaking point, "there's that dating agency that Ray has used."

"What the bloody 'ell?" Ray was aghast. "I 'ave not used a datin' agency!"

"Oh, come off it, Ray," Shaz returned, "I heard you ringing them up. Saying you'd be available to do a video and everything."

A chorus of sniggers went round the tables, including from Bolly.

"Yeah, well, that was just the once. Wanted to see what it was about. But it was a load of bollocks." He shook his head in disgust. " _Datin' agencies_. Any bloke worth 'is salt doesn't need to use one of those. And the Guv definitely doesn't."

"Well said, Raymondo," Gene agreed, arms folded against his chest. "More trouble than it's worth. If you young 'uns 'ad any sense then you'd listen to the Gene-Genie, and not bother with all this lovey-dovey stuff and blind date bollocks. Because it all ends up goin' the same way in the end."

He'd come off sounding more bitter than he intended, downing the rest of the contents in his glass – more for show than effect, given that there wasn't bloody any – and slamming it down upon the table, causing Granger to jump in her seat.

As he got up he felt Bolly's eyes following him across the room; no doubt she was working herself up to tear a strip off him for being a jaded old bastard and upsetting Shaz. At this exact moment in time he didn't really care what she thought. He knew he was right, and that was all he was bothered about.

 _Definitely not the idea of Bolly going out with someone else while they had...whatever the bloody hell it was they had._

He stretched his arms across the bar, watching her watching him for a few seconds before she looked away. Good thing, really; he couldn't be doing with figuring out what was going on in her head tonight, more than he usually could.

Almost all of them were none the wiser as he slipped out of the door, having paid for all their drinks as well as the next round on top.

"Ey," Chris made himself heard amongst the crowd of voices, "is there any chance of us seein' this video of yours, Ray?"

"Not unless you want to get a name for yerself," Ray replied, glad to take the heat off himself for once.

* * *

"Bolly!"

He caught her in the corridor, before she was on her way out to lunch. Got himself a rather good view of her arse before she turned to face him, thumbs in the loops of her jeans accentuating her curves.

She looked like she was already narked with him, which wasn't a great start. He wasn't going to wait for whatever mood she was in to pass; he'd had more than enough time to rake it over in his head, and each imaginary outcome left him more riled than the one that had preceded.

"This thing," he began. He was rather hoping he wouldn't have to spell it out, but instead she stayed staring at him, apparently none the wiser. "With this bloke. You gunna go, or what?"

A slow and very irritating smile rose upon her lips.

"You mean Michael," she clarified, "the _architect_."

He didn't give a rat's todger what he was called or what poncey thing he did for a living. He didn't need to know much about him to conclude that he was a perfect tosser.

"Not interested in 'is life story. Just want to know what you're plannin' on doin'."

"And why would that be?" She moved her hands up, criss-crossing her arms beneath the swell of her chest. "Don't tell me that you've got some elaborate plan to sweep me off my feet at quarter to eight on Friday night? A grand design to blindfold me and whisk me away on the next plane to Venice?"

"Don't be daft. I'm not the bloody Milk Tray man."

"Shame," she shrugged, "then at the very least I'd get some chocolate out of it."

This was all a game to her. Coming up with all kinds of ridiculous ideas to throw him off the scent, trampling all over his heart with her stilettos.

He glared at her until she cracked; a tried and tested method. He wasn't prepared to make a fool of himself any longer, all but begging her for scraps of information.

"It does seems strange, I suppose. An eligible woman in her thirties, not showing any interest in the dating scene. Especially at this time, when these sorts of things had more social significance."

She was so bloody obsessed with how things looked, what people thought of her. Came with the territory, he supposed, but he wished she'd give it a break for at least five minutes. Stuff the world's perception of Alex Drake. _She should start payin' attention a bit closer to home_.

"Jesus, if I thought you were gunna go round the houses, I wouldn't 'ave bothered."

She fixed him with a stare, as if to ask _then why did you in the first place?_

He didn't particularly like it when the boot was placed on the other foot.

She gave another small shrug of her shoulders. "I don't see why not. It's not like I've got a packed social calendar." Her lips curved as her hazel eyes glimmered. "What else am I going to do, sit in Luigi's again? Groundhog Day passed at the start of the month. Although, I don't know if I can be entirely sure that I'm not living my own version."

"For once I thought you might actually give a straight answer, though I realise that would 'ave been askin' the impossible."

"Yes."

He'd been expecting her to carry on with some non-sensical rambling for at least another five minutes. _Hang on, was she sayin' yes to seein' this poof, or to the idea that she was as impossible as they came?_

Her shoulders arched back, making her assets even more undeniable. "Yes, I'm going to go."

The stab of pain was as much as though he'd been knifed right in the centre of his chest.

Silence stretched between them for a few moments, him lost for words and her not having to say anything further. He supposed that he'd got his answer to the question of what exactly was going on between them, though it was the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. If he hadn't been so insistent on bullshitting himself, he would have realised that he could never have expected any other outcome.

Her eyes were searching his, and he wanted her to stop, to just turn her pretty head and never bother him again.

He drew himself up, fixed a nonchalant pout to his expression. Gene Hunt would be damned if he'd let any bird get the better of him.

"If yer bothered about disappointin' Granger, then she made 'er bed when she stuck with that plonker Skelton."

"There's a bit more to female solidarity than that, Gene."

He scoffed, hands balled up in his pockets. "You could 'ave just said 'it's alright, Shaz. I'm a grown woman, quite capable of pickin' out my own shags.'"

He could tell before she opened her mouth that she was going to speak several pitches higher, nearly perforating his eardrums.

"I do not just shag offhand! You of all people..."

 _A very interestin' slip of the tongue. What did he have to do with it?_

"Could 'ave fooled me, Bols."

She looked genuinely hurt for a second or two, a range of emotion he couldn't determine swirling in her eyes.

"This is different. We know each other, we understand each other." She faltered, breaking their contact briefly. "Or, at least, I thought I was starting to..."

 _So, she wasn't plannin' on shagging him. That was one thing, at least. Though plans could have a habit of changing sharpish when it came to her...especially if she thought he was interrogating her to find some evidence of guilt._

He leant heavily against the wall, not seeing much point in carrying on the conversation now that he'd got the information he was after. Now he just wanted to put the knowledge to the very back of his mind; the only thing she could do to placate him would be to buy him a very large bacon butty.

"Well, I hope you 'ave a jolly good time. Little word of advice though, Lady B."

She nudged her head in what he took to be interest, and not some kind of initial analysis of his hidden feelings.

"If you want to keep 'im interested for longer than a few hours then you'll have to button yerself up like a librarian. I've 'eard that's what gets those posh boys off." He gave her a wry smirk. "No flashing all the goods like a common tom."

As expected, her face hardened towards him.

"I don't know why I expected that you might not be an utter arsehole for once in your life."

"Leopards don't change their spots, Bolly."

"And lions can't be tamed, either," she sighed, eyelashes flickering.

"You said it."

He watched her scowl at him, her back as she flounced away. Even watching her arse bob didn't have the same appeal at this moment in time.

For as good as he felt in getting the upper hand for the grand total of twenty seconds or so, he couldn't shake the feeling that he might have done something very wrong in pushing her away from him and right into the arms of some sodding architect.

* * *

Friday night rolled round with alarming speed. Half past seven. It was at this point that they'd be sitting in their usual spots, onto their second or more likely third bottle – if it had been any other month – batting some pointless topic of conversation back and forth between them. He'd look away as she never paused for breath, tuning out for half of what she wittered on about and hoping that the son of God himself might walk through the door and turn the water that went untouched upon the table into wine in order to get him through the rest of whatever she had to say unscathed.

That was until she turned her gaze towards him, those eyes shimmering with just the right amount of drunkenness to make her even more gorgeous than she already was and not so much that he'd have turn her down, like the sometimes unfortunate gentleman that he was.

 _When he thought of all the times he had wanted to throw her over his shoulder and march her upstairs, show her exactly what he was made of..._

Friday night was the absolute worst time to be sober, watching from the sidelines whilst everyone else got steadily pissed up or tarted up, one avenue leading to a sore head and the other leading to a far worse embarrassment.

Oh, how he bloody hoped that would be the case.

He reluctantly rose his head when the chorus of wolf whistles rang louder throughout the restaurant, hating the sound, not wanting to see her strut in looking a million quid – which she obviously would.

The dress hugged tight to her figure – he consoled himself with the fact that he'd run his hands all over the body beneath many times over, though it still wasn't and never would be enough – the neckline plunging. _Deliberately taunting him, she knew too damn well he went weak for those puppies._ Wasn't quite as short as he'd like, but it was besides the point.

She was the most fucking beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes upon.

" _Bella_ , Signorina Drake!" Luigi exclaimed, the awe in his tone causing Gene to want to give him a smack.

"Blimey..." Chris uttered, mouth hanging open.

"Said it before, you don't get many of those to the pound," Ray smirked, just about holding onto his cigarette.

"Wow, Ma'am, you look stunning," Shaz cooed in rapture. "Doesn't she, Guv?"

Shit, he was hoping he wouldn't get dragged into it, could remain in his corner acting as though he was invisible and ignoring his Bolly about to swan off for the night with a lucky bastard who didn't go by the name of Gene Hunt.

"I've seen better," he shrugged, not bothering to stand up.

If looks could kill, there would have been nothing down for him.

"Just as well that it's not for your benefit then, isn't it?" she replied coolly.

He would have begged to differ if he hadn't felt so morose.

She embraced Shaz before tottering like Bambi on ice across the restaurant, Mr Architect in shining armour having arrived more than five minutes before he was due. A bloke coming too early; never a good sign.

"Don't wait up!" she screeched, smiling to them all – but pointedly aiming a particularly annoying grin in his direction – before disappearing into the night.

His silent plea to be left alone to mope in peace went unheard, as no sooner had Bolly swung her peachy arse out of the doors was he surrounded at the previously all-but-empty table.

"That's it, I'm down to Soho tonight. The birds there are always up for it. Proper kinky cows." Ray looked around the gathered crowd, smirking lasciviously. "Don't see why Lady Muck should 'ave all the fun."

He nudged Gene sharply near the ribs, earning himself a grunt of discontent. Carling should thank his lucky stars that he didn't get thrown arse first over the bar.

"What d'yer say, Guv? A busty blonde and brunette, one on each arm." He'd never seen Ray look so pleased with himself, aside from when United battered City. "Dunno where the redhead's gunna go, but I'm sure I can find a spot!"

The idea was tempting in passing; when Bolly came in the next morning swooning over the posh boy he'd have double up on her, and imagined her pretty face crumpling before he even had to go into sordid detail. But it was no good; he wasn't able to raise a smile at the thought of any other bird, never mind anything lower on his anatomy.

It was Bolly, or bust.

"You've got to be jokin'," he barked, getting to his feet with a start and throwing on his coat. He poked Ray hard in the shoulder. "You wanna start wearin' specs, Raymondo, because they're not birds. Got a few too many lumps and bumps in the wrong places."

He clapped both hands upon Carling's back, exiting the restaurant to the others yelling and jeering and Raymondo swearing his innocence.

As he walked, two options weighed upon him and both were equally appealing. He could raid the local off-licence, pictured himself grabbing as many bottles as he could carry and glugging his way less than steadily through the contents. She'd be none the wiser – probably too bothered about poncey posh bloke to even care – and he could get rid of the evidence easily by the time she reappeared. It was the perfect crime.

Some ounce of conscience pulled him up short with that idea.

Otherwise he could straight to his hollow shell of a house, trudge up the stairs to bed and hurl his body beneath the covers, willing sleep to wallop him over the head and knock him out enough to forget that this night had ever happened.

That was no good either, given that she was there, conjured up in that ridiculously tight dress whenever he even thought about closing his eyes.

Before he got too far down the street, the third option crept up from the depths of his mind, seeming more logical by the second. She'd be incredibly irritated by it, no doubt would call him every four letter word under the sun. But then, she didn't actually have to find out, and he was nothing if not careful.

 _Well..._

 _Oh, bollocks to it._

Fishing the precious keys out of his pocket, he headed to the one stunner in red he could always rely on.

* * *

His memory wasn't what it used to be, but for some unknown reason he could recall the most apparently pointless of exchanges. Like when Tyler explained surveillance and why it was the best thing since draught bitter. He'd had his objections at the time but he'd since come round to Gladys's way of thinking. It suited him to sit on his arse and stuff his face for a couple of hours, getting the gen on some shitty piece of scum from afar. Saved his arse a few times as well, stopping him from putting his fists into gear on a poor unsuspecting sod who just happened to look out of place.

And on this particular occasion, it made him feel very manly indeed. He was sitting here for Bolly's benefit, doing what he could to protect her. After all, it wasn't his fault that she was bleeding hopeless when it came to picking out blokes, and he didn't like the sound of this one in particular. _Probably because she was harpin' on about him like 'e was God's gift._ If he found that the tosser laid so much as a little finger on her he would waste no time in ripping him a new arsehole and then take great pleasure into kicking it into next week.

That voice he didn't ask to hear ignored him, and nagged anyway.

 _Maybe she wants 'im to be all over her. Face facts, Hunt – is she ever goin' to settle for someone like you?_

Rage bubbling through him, he reached to the dashboard, flicking on the radio in the hope of drowning out the unwanted thoughts.

 _# When you're in love  
You know you're in love  
No matter what you try to do  
You might as well resign yourself  
To what you're going through  
If you're a hard man or if you're a child  
It still might get to you  
Don't kid yourself you've seen it all before  
A million mouths have said that too #_

His gloved hand punched the button sharply. _Stupid bloody song, tuneless and sung by some long-haired ponce._

It had been ages and there was no sign of them. He wondered if Bolly had dropped the name of the wrong place on purpose, having a good idea of the plan he'd formulated over the past week. Either that or they'd long gone out the back way, sneaking off to his place – a bloody million pound flat near Westminster no doubt, mixing with all the posh-knob politicians.

He was about to give up and drive away when he clocked her, standing outside the restaurant and dipping down to the window of a car with glinting headlights. She was talking for a while – _no change there, then_ – fiddling with her hair and smiling. He realised that Archie Architect was sitting inside the car, and his blood boiled over again. _Surely 'e wouldn't leave a lady on the side of the street on 'er own while he buggered off, leavin' 'er prey to the nocturnal bastards that came out to play in London after dark?_

 _What a dickhead._

Posh Boy sped off in his Bentley, leaving Bolly looking rather lost on the pavement. She was glancing down the street, wistful expression on her face and arms hugging tight around her to keep out the cold. It must have been the glare of the streetlights, making the Quattro stick out like a sore thumb, as in the very next second he caught her staring straight towards him in the rear view mirror.

 _Shit_.

He wasn't going to take a tip from the same book, so he sat there, counting down the seconds that it took for her to march across the road like an SAS operative in six-inch-heels. Her hand rapped repeatedly on the window at the passenger side.

"Sorry, love, not tonight," he raised his voice so she could catch him through the glass, trying not to look at her and her thoroughly pissed-off expression, "gunna 'ave to wait for next payday 'til I can afford you."

"Let me in," she barked, flattened hand pounding upon the window.

"What's the magic word?"

" _Now_ , before I freeze my tits off!"

He stretched to open the door outwards. "Not quite what I was lookin' for, but it'll do."

She slammed it shut once she had clambered her long legs inside, and the reverberation made him wince.

"Oi, watch the bloody paintwork!"

"Don't even start."

He was amused by her little display, sneaking a glance at her with her elbow leant upon the frame, a sulky look upon her still-kissable lips.

"Have you been here all this time?"

He felt her eyes on him, burning with suspicion and accusation.

"No," he returned, a little too emphatic to be believable. "Went for fish and chips, and then the bookies after that. Only stopped off 'ere because it's quiet and I could get a bit of kip before goin' home."

She continued to stare at him, leaning heavily on the seat's head-rest.

"I didn't think there were any bookmakers around here. At least not within a three-mile radius."

"There's one down the side street. How d'you think all those yuppies spend their spare time?" He huffed incredulously, turning his face away from hers. "The world does not revolve around the wiggle of your arse, Bollykecks."

That did the trick in shutting her up. Two bloody minutes in and he wished he hadn't bothered staying here all evening. Though it did make him feel better to know that she was safe and not roaming the streets, getting propositioned by God knows who.

After a few minutes he'd had enough of the silence and the gnawing curiosity that was fast getting the better of him.

"So, 'ow did Mr Bloody Marvellous turn out?"

She exhaled a sigh. "I know more now about the history of architecture than I'd ever care or have the time to look up. Honestly, I was lucky that I got a few words in edgeways for the whole evening."

"Christ, might track 'im down so I can shake 'is hand and ask for some advice."

He looked back towards her, catching the little glimmer of a reluctant smile start upon her face.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm all for conversation. But it would have been nice to be an equal participant." She rolled her eyes, pulling the fabric of her dress down over her knees. "Should have known really. Someone that pretty has to have all the personality of a wet sock."

He didn't know whether to punch the air in delight or take great offence at her classification of him by default. Not that he'd ever want to be called _pretty_.

"I don't know what on earth Shaz was thinking."

"Long given up tryin' to figure any of that lot out, and you should do the same. As if you don't do enough of that 'eadwork already."

"But it's what I do best, Gene." She raised her eyebrows at him, seeing that he was eager in wanting to beg to differ on that score. "Perhaps if I'd had a glass of wine or several it would have gone better."

"You mean yer actually carried on with this charade?"

She looked deeply insulted by his insinuation that she would do anything but stick to her guns. "Of course. I said that I was a recovering alcoholic, no big deal." She paused for a moment. "It's more common than you'd think in the force."

"Flamin' Nora, can't say I blame the bloke for doin' a runner without yer." He couldn't predict a thing that came out of her mouth, and it made him feel permanently unsettled.

"He was very sympathetic, _actually_." And he definitely didn't like the tone she was taking. "It turned out that it runs in the family. His grandmother had the same affliction, and I was lucky enough to hear her whole life story too. And how close they were since he was a child, and always were until she died..."

If he hadn't been so keen to get her away, he'd have suspected Archie would be a very good match for her. He was absolutely bonkers too, by the sounds of it.

"...I've come across more than my fair share of Oedipals, but nothing on the next level up before." Her eyes widened in her head. "A first time for everything, I suppose."

"Earth to Bolly, stop talkin' indecipherable bollocks."

He was lucky that instead of hitting him where it really would have hurt, she decided to simply smile towards him, eyes clear from the lack of wine. He didn't read disappointment in them, not as he might have expected.

"Should 'ave just stopped off in Luigi's after all, eh Bols?" he uttered, hands firm against the steering wheel. "Waste of a perfectly good evenin', pissin' about 'ere."

He could see something sparking in her eyes as she looked back at him.

"It's not over yet."

Her smile shifted into one that he recognised from several other nights, and it didn't fail to amaze him how she could switch the come-on so easily. He might not even be in the mood, especially not after freezing his knackers off all night in the cold.

One hand sidled over, stroking her way up towards his groin.

He was definitely in the mood, no question about it.

"You know," she purred as she shifted her whole body in the seat, plunging neckline getting all the more so, "that VHS is still propping up the coffee table..."

* * *

His lumpy old sofa was exchanged for her modern-looking one, though it was a bit of a squeeze for them both to get comfortable. To remedy the problem Bolly had decided to curl up horizontally with her head upon his chest, which in the duration of the film had led to her laying down in his lap. A close bloody call, but thankfully his body had managed to behave itself.

It was all very comfortable, so much so that he'd dozed off for a bit halfway through. He'd forgotten how long the thing went on for. He'd come to before the ending, perking himself up in time for the credits to roll and the telly to go fuzzy.

Her head was like a weight upon him; she seemed quite content to stay there permanently.

"What's yer verdict, then?"

She sighed against him.

"It was a little far-fetched in parts, but I enjoyed it more than I expected to. And Errol Flynn is a nice bit of eye candy."

A sense of triumph washed over him. "See, none of this new science-fiction shite with time travellin' and whatever other bollocks. You can't go wrong with a classic Western."

She shifted, turning from her side onto her back to look up at him. "I can't say it's a genre I've visited very often."

"Yer missin' out, Bols." One hand was trapped beneath her; he had to shove her a bit to rest it upon her stomach. "Cancel yer plans for next week. Gunna sit you down in front of the box and we'll watch _High Noon_. Best film there is. Gary Cooper, there's no one better."

She smiled up at him, a dopey look on her face.

"Love in the Afternoon."

"Bit off topic, but I'm not gunna say no to that either."

She chuckled. "No, _Love in the Afternoon._ Gary Cooper, Audrey Hepburn. I remember watching it when I was little. It's very charming."

"Yeah, well you can pick a bit further down the line," he pouted. "Although if it's got Cooper in, it can't be 'alf bad."

"A bit unconventional, but he does cut quite the romantic figure."

"He's the Sheriff," he affirmed, straightening out the best he could, "that's all that matters. Never mind the mushy stuff."

Finally, she pulled herself up, and he could hope to get a bit of feeling back beneath the waist. She didn't stray very far though, rubbing her shoulder against his arm.

"You're like an onion."

"Oh, thanks a lot," he replied gruffly. "I've been compared to a lot of things in me life, but never a bleedin' vegetable. Is it because I make yer cry?"

She shook her head and laughed faintly, her fingers tentatively edging his jaw.

"You've got a lot of layers," she explained, her eyes softening as she tilted her head, staring at him and making him feel uncomfortable again. He should be used to it by now, really. "It's not a bad thing. It's very good, actually."

He should have taken her hand away from his face, feeling things getting very tricky indeed. Instead he stayed still, letting her fingertips caress his pock-marked cheek.

"Well, alright," he uttered after a few moments. "So long as it doesn't make me a bloody Frenchy."

Bolly smiled, letting her hand drop into her lap. He missed her touch immediately, giving thought to whether he should pull her arse to where her head had previously rested.

"Mmm, Audrey Hepburn. She was a classy little bird. Not unlike yerself."

She scoffed. "I wish I had her figure!"

 _Sod it_.

He delighted in her squeal as he grasped her by the waist, positioning her so that her knees were either side of him, straddling him where he sat.

"A bloke likes somethin' to grab onto. Nothin' wrong with the meat on your bones, Bolly."

To prove his appreciation, he slid his hands up from her hips to skim the curves of her breasts. An unguarded whimper came from the back of her throat, and he was glad to know that his touch affected her as much. Since she had changed what she was wearing it was much easier for him to peel the loose-fitting top from her body, nuzzling his face into her generous cleavage.

She giggled at his enthusiasm, her arms looping firmly about his neck.

"You're awake, then?"

Nothing escaped her close watch.

"Oh yeah," he replied, bracing his hands at her waist as he made to stand, taking her with him, "and rarin' for some action, if you think you can handle it."

"Of course...oh god, Gene!"

She was finally over his shoulder, under his control, and as he took her off to the bedroom he left feeling more heroic than any sheriff left standing.

* * *

 **A/N: I do love me some jealous!Gene ;) (and writing a chapter entirely from Gene's POV was a lot of fun, if challenging)**

 _ **Love** **Action (I Believe In Love)**_ **performed by The Human League and written by Philip Oakey and Ian Burden.**

 **Though I'm a big fan of Audrey Hepburn I haven't actually seen _Love in the Afternoon_ as yet, but I'll take Alex's word for it.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Alex spent half of the morning lost in thought.

 _Hang on, can you halve a half? A quarter, I suppose._ For someone naturally bent to the analytical she had an almost shocking grasp of maths.

The last thing she needed was to be further split in two, or multiples thereof. The versions of herself could go on forever, be enough to enter into other realms and populate other worlds. She couldn't ponder the possibilities too much, otherwise she'd end up wanting to jump head first into the Thames to drown out all of her many voices.

She had little doubt that every Alex Drake in existence was facing the same dilemma, the constant push one moment and pull the next. It shouldn't be so difficult when there was a simple binary choice. Black or white. Heads or tails.

 _You shouldn't be doing this. You need to stop, right now, while you can still get away relatively unscathed._

She wasn't keen on that voice, not at this time of day. She noted that it didn't sound especially convinced of the words it was saying, which in turn didn't fill her with confidence.

The other one had a much sounder argument, spoke with a tone that she preferred.

 _You're in control. You can walk away any time you want. Everything's been so difficult; don't you deserve some fun?_

She frowned, answered back with a breath of a whisper.

"It's more than that."

 _Okay then. What do you want to call it?_

She took a long time to answer, half-afraid of getting it wrong, still angry with herself for giving in; predominately thinking that there wasn't any word or emotion that could accurately describe what she felt.

"I don't know..."

The voice sounded different suddenly, an echo from the furthest depths of her memory.

 _Speak up, Alex._

She wouldn't be cajoled, she knew almost every trick in the book. The word lay upon her tongue, having been pulled up from somewhere further within her, but she wouldn't surrender it just yet. Certainly not to some phantom presence without a face or any form that she was aware of.

Perhaps it would have been different if she had a guardian in this world. Her mother was the obvious choice, the one closest to understanding. It had been a shame that she had caused her to think that she was mentally unstable, and she despised everything about Gene, so it wouldn't have gone very well anyway. She had missed that, her mother not having been around to approve or otherwise abhor her decisions when it came to affairs of the heart.

She could see her now, still in her '80s power-suit, though she seemed to have been transported forward decades. Maybe she was standing in for her from the beyond, keeping her place warm.

 _Oh, Alex. I expected better from you. A man like that. His boiled-down, reductive ideas._

She closed her eyes, set her posture to that of a condescended child.

 _I can only think that it must come down to one thing._

Oh for God's sake, she had _not_ missed the opportunities for such inferences.

He's a better man than Pete ever was, or still is.

She tried to imagine Pete in his teenaged incarnation, spots covered with toothpaste upon his chin and hair slicked back, and stopped herself from bursting out into a helpless fit of laughter. She wanted to picture Gene as a younger version of himself but it was as though there was a void, a denial that he could ever be anything other than the man he was, forever formed that way. An undeniable force of nature, impossible for her to turn away from or defeat with whatever ineffectual weapon she possessed.

Caroline Price required a more elegantly formed argument.

 _It's more trouble than it's worth, you know. Being at such close quarters, all the time. Sharing everything. The personal as well as the professional. Lines get blurred, until you can't recognise where they begin or end anymore._

She had to scoff at that. Well, she supposed she should know, better than anyone.

At least I'm not as bad as you.

The rage she felt at the nerve and the hypocrisy thudded in her veins.

I'm not hurting anyone. I'm not married anymore, and most of all I'm not cheating with my daughter's bloody godfather.

Even as she mourned for her loss, she couldn't easily get rid of the resentment she held for her mother's secret, kept well and truly hidden from her in her other life. She didn't know how she would face Evan when she got back, knowing everything now. It made her feel sick to think of him being Molly's guardian. All of the times she had trusted him, let him care for them both without a single question in her mind. Perhaps it wasn't her mother she was grieving for. Perhaps it was for the crumbling of her own foundations. Her whole life, the fundamental notion of who she sought protection from, falling away like the thinnest of lies.

For the other half of the morning she'd been simply lost.

Why did she feel the need to make such a puzzle of everything, when it was all so obvious? She didn't know why she hadn't come to the conclusion sooner.

Gene. Everything that existed, every pointless thought that she had, every wall that she ended up running into. Everything was him.

After that disastrous date – which she couldn't fathom for the life of her why she agreed to in the first place – all she had wanted to do was run to him. She'd spent most of the evening sneaking glances at her watch and then the entrance to the unfamiliar restaurant, hoping that he'd burst through with all of his lack of grace and inelegance. Pulling her from the table and sweeping her into his arms was probably a step too far, she admitted. When she'd discovered the Quattro parked not too far away and him looking like a panicked schoolboy inside as she caught sight of him, her heart had lifted straight up from the slump it had been in.

Always there. She hadn't even had to call.

To make it up to him she'd let him take control of her body, in absolute thrall to the pleasure searing through to her soul, every bit of it his doing. She often had to remind herself that the sounds she heard, the whining and the gasping followed by the pitched cries of bliss, were being made by her. She hadn't needed to plead. He could read all of the thoughts in her mind, she was sure of it. So much so that she didn't bother uttering the words aloud. She had been so far gone in the midst of her euphoria that she would have been completely incoherent, anyway.

 _I want you. You, and only you._

Gene.

 _For the rest of time_. Whatever that was.

He was never domineering with her, though. Not going so far as to transform into someone different and unrecognisable, but switching into another gear. Weeks ago she wouldn't have believed it; Gene Hunt of all people, showing her remarkable tenderness. She'd practically had to beg, drag his hands over and into her to get what she craved on occasions, glimpsing what she imagined to be apology in his eyes. It was as though he had a far better idea than she did of what she needed, rather than what she wanted.

As far as she was concerned, there was no difference.

She had been woken not long after half seven with kisses poured down the back of her neck and between her shoulder-blades. Hearing him huff gently, moulded behind her body in the spooning position they'd fallen asleep in. Another wonderful surprise. His hands rousing her further out of slumber, moving fluidly from her hips to her breasts, cupping one fully in his palm. Once he'd had his fill of toying, he snaked his fingers back lower, reaching beneath the sheets pooled at their waists. She couldn't stop her breath from hitching sharply, her body automatically and instinctively yielding to his touch as his voice sounded heavy in her ear.

"Mmmm, mornin', Bols." His mouth nipped at the lobe of her ear, his fingers dipping into the slickness between her thighs. "A very good mornin', indeed. Jesus, yer always ready for me."

She mumbled something non-sensical against the pillow, her own hand fumbling to attempt to meet his but not being quick enough. Not that she could do all that much to guide him, he was doing such an amazing job all on his own.

"Stay right there."

She couldn't move, and didn't want him to do so either.

"Here?" he questioned her, his fingertips moving in and out at an almost maddeningly slow but absolutely divine pace. "Sure you don't want me to go somewhere else instead?"

"No..."

Never mind, she knew by now that Gene did exactly what he wanted, and she let out a yelp as he simultaneously teased her clit and bit her shoulder. While she writhed in ecstasy, he chuckled, nuzzling more kisses into the crook of her neck. His hand withdrew from between her thighs and skimmed back up the curve of her side, fingers pebbling against her nipple and painting her with her own arousal. _Christ_ , she had never known anything so acutely erotic, feeling like she was having some kind of out-of-body experience.

"Gene..."

She murmured his name, aware of how needy she sounded doing so.

He rolled the bud between finger and thumb.

"Alex."

She wasn't Bols or Bolly anymore; things really had stepped up a gear.

"Tell me I'm not dreaming."

The hand that had been resting at the top of her thigh left her body, but she soon understood why as she registered the head of his cock nudging against her. After a few moments of teasing he slid in with one long stroke.

"This feel like dreamin' to you?"

He held still at first, long enough for her to emerge from any haze she was still in and to become fully aware of the degree to which he wanted her.

"Feels amazing," she answered, pushing back on him as much as she was able, matching his thrusts with the flexing of her hips.

So many different guises. Maybe he was attempting to pair himself with all the many versions of herself that she imagined existed in this world and any others. His creation, or hers. She loved the slow and drowsy sex as much as the heated, frantic kind, being beneath him or on top, or side-by-side, just like this. She couldn't even think to know the point at where he finished and she began, and it seemed like the perfect way to be.

Her orgasm was no less intense – it felt even more so for the worth of all their effort, the languid coupling having the most wonderful of conclusions. Gene's hands had landed back on her breasts and she had to disappoint him momentarily as she turned, placing her palm against his cheek as she leant not too far at all to catch her lips with his.

She really loved kissing him, feeling all of that raw energy held within him melt down against her mouth. The most intimate of acts, making her whole being jump to life and float serenely. She took a few strands of his hair between her fingers, stroking blind. It occurred to her that she did have a guide in this world after all. He occupied so many roles for her, and while it was probably dangerous she couldn't imagine anyone else fitting the bill so well.

He surrendered to her for a few minutes, until his innate Gene-ness appeared to realise that another day had dawned. He clambered from her and the bed, slapping her thigh sharply as he stood to full height.

"Gotta wash the smell of you off, Bols, at least from most places, else I'll be able to do sod all."

She decided not to follow him into the shower – otherwise they would both have to write the day off – waiting for her turn as she flitted in and out of what felt like consciousness, her body still not quite recovered.

Once she was ready, hair styled and make-up in place, she felt him sidle up behind her. The surprise dissipated quickly; she thought that he might have headed off to the station ahead of her, so quiet as a mouse had he been.

"Let's just sack today off," he muttered between planting open-mouthed kisses against her neck, glad that she was wearing a off-the-shouder jumper rather than a blouse. "Or the rest of the mornin', at least."

She shook her head as she smiled, not attempting to wriggle out of his grasp in protest. "What's got into you, the Sheriff of Fenchurch East?"

"You 'ave," he answered resolutely, one hand slipping from her waist to give her bum a quick squeeze. "Wake up in that way and there's not much point in doin' anythin' else, 'cause it's not goin' to match up."

He did make a very fair point, even if it was somewhat out of the ordinary.

"You don't know what's waiting around the corner. Could be the crime of the century, begging to have its arse well and truly kicked by DCI Gene Hunt."

"Hmmm," he said, mouth still trailing her skin, "not fussed."

Alex smiled at the image of them encircled in the mirror before her, feeling herself become steadily persuaded with the feel of his lips and his hands upon her.

Whatever happened during the day or night, it always came down to the same choice. Perhaps she'd be best off flipping a coin to determine the outcome.

Heads or tails.

 _Stay or go._

Perhaps it was all out of her hands after all.

* * *

She had never known a morning so quiet, in either of her existences. It appeared that all of the criminals within a five-mile radius had elected to take the day off. By ten o'clock she had completed both crosswords in the three-day old newspaper and found herself wishing she would have brought a bottle of nail varnish to provide another occupancy for her idle hands.

The phones were dead, and the sole visitor into CID was a dear little old lady in a fuzzy blue coat and matching hat who informed Viv that her beloved cat Bertie had been rather too adventurous in his pursuit of birds of the feathered variety and was now stuck up a tree across the road. Viv had remained the image of calm dignity as he repeated that they were the police force and not the fire brigade, but she could see no significant distinction. After a long five minutes, the solution came in Gene ordering Chris to go retrieve Bertie. DC Skelton returned some time later, not best pleased that his new trainers were full of scuffs but relieved at least that he hadn't split his jeans. Shaz was full of praise for the hero, cooing over the ginger fluffball until Gene sent it away – blaming allergies, apparently – and planting a kiss on Chris's cheek.

Alex smiled towards the couple, thinking how sweet they looked. _Young love._ Gene was less than impressed at the display of affection, pouting and swaggering across the room. He looked utterly ridiculous, stuffy and sour-faced. _But goddamn it, still so incredibly sexy._

He stopped short of slinking straight into his office, dipping down and planting one hand upon her desk, breath dancing at her ear.

"Nothin' doin', Bollykecks," he murmured gruffly, the low pitch of his voice enough to cause her to wriggle in her seat, sparks edging at her core. "Yer could 'ave been inspectin' the ceiling at this very moment in time."

She turned her head, smiling wryly at him. She wouldn't give it away but the images revolved, crowding her mind and leaving her rather lost for words.

"Let's wait and see what turns up, shall we?"

He gave a huff of discontent, shuffling away. She tried not to be too obvious in ogling his arse before it disappeared behind the door; at least he didn't slam it this time. _Be thankful for small mercies._

It was another hour before it opened again with a bark of "Drake!" Mac had been on the phone with news of some 'suspicious activity' down at the Docklands and was keen for them to scout the area. Just her and Gene. As he drove them at the typical breakneck speed, she wondered if she should have been more questioning than he had. Had Mac somehow caught wind of their knowledge of his corruption that went back years, rumbled their as-yet barely formulated plans? Was it all a set-up – did he plan to take them out, or worse, play them off against each other? Alex shuddered inwardly as she conjured up the scene of the two of them, guns forced into their hands, aiming at one another against their will on the deserted Docks, not another soul in sight to witness the shoot-out.

As it turned out it had been nothing more than a couple of vaguely dodgy-looking blokes skulking around, smoking. Gene hadn't been best pleased at being led on a goose chase – it couldn't have even been termed _wild_ – muttering his annoyance all the way back to the station.

"Dunno what the bloody 'ell he's playin' at." He took a bend in the road with alarming sharpness, leaving Alex clinging to the roof of the Quattro by her fingernails. "Makin' us look like right useless tossers."

She'd just about regained the breath that she sucked in too fast. "Keep your cool. Try counting to ten before you react."

He glared at her rather than the road ahead for longer than she would have liked.

"Need more like ten ruddy thousand."

Gene stormed ahead of her, leaving all but a trail of dust for her to follow back into CID. She'd no sooner set foot through the doors than she was confronted by a woman crying loudly, her arm being faintly patted by a supremely awkward-looking Ray.

" 'ere, love, why don't I leave you with DI Drake? There, there."

He couldn't scarper quickly enough, near enough shoving the poor woman into Alex.

"Thank you, DS Carling." Alex directed her attention towards the woman, probably five years or so older than she was. She was clearly distraught, fighting for breath between wracking sobs. "I'm sorry about my colleague, he's not the most sensitive of souls. Though I would have thought he'd be used to his fair share of crying females by now."

Her terrible attempt at lightening the mood went down just as well as it deserved to.

"Thought she'd be back by now...been three days...I've looked everywhere, but I can't find her. She's just...gone."

It was all she could manage before dissolving into a fresh, heaving burst of tears.

Alex braced her arm around the woman, her hand soothing against the coarse wool of her coat.

"Shall we go somewhere quiet?" she said in a soft tone. "Give you chance to catch your breath."

The woman let herself be led by Alex into one of the interview rooms, standing frozen to one spot for a few minutes until sheer exhaustion caused her legs to give way, slumping down into a chair.

Alex offered a tissue and a half-full glass of water, allowing the time that was needed for composure to be regained. She watched the other woman facing her dab at her glowing-red eyes, pulling her handbag from the floor up onto her lap.

"I...I feel useless, really," she started, her voice steadier than Alex would have expected after such a breakdown. "I wanted to do it myself, but I don't know where to look anymore. And if I'm honest, I don't think I can think straight. My brother said that I should go to the police, that it'd be the best thing to do."

"That's what we're here for," Alex smiled lightly, craning forward in her own seat. "If you can let us know..."

The woman raised her head, looking Alex dead in the eyes for a minute that seemed like an eternity. Then she lowered it again, drawing a pristine photograph from her bag.

"My daughter," she uttered, fingers shaking as she passed the image over, "she didn't come home from school three days ago. Some days the bus might be a few minutes late, but never more than that. An hour passed, then two, and I was sick with worry. It's not like her at all. She never leaves my side."

The tears had started to spring to Alex's eyes, but she fought to keep it together.

"It's just the two of us. My husband left years ago. If anything happened to her...I don't know what I'd do. I'd fall apart."

The sobs started again from the woman's throat, and Alex leant to place an understanding hand upon her knee.

She managed a watery smile, reaching again into her handbag and showing the shiny chain in the palm of her hand.

"I got her this for her last birthday. I'd gone to the school to see if I could retrace her steps, and it was on the ground not too far away from the gates."

The silver heart gleamed even in the relative darkness of the room, the etching upon it catching Alex's eye and stabbing her in the centre of her chest.

 _M.D. xxx_

" _Molls_ ," she gasped under her breath.

Her throat felt like it had closed up, her stomach clenching within the space of a millisecond. _This was some kind of warning. Molly was in danger, back in the real world._

 _She was calling out to her, and she hadn't been able to hear._

"Can I...?"

The woman nodded, handing the bracelet over to Alex. She was sure she felt an electric shock travel up her arm on taking it into her palm.

"We'll do everything we can. We'll find her, and bring her home to you." Her voice was firm, determined. "I promise. If it's the last thing I do."

The promise echoed in her own mind. _I'm here for you, Molls. Even if I'm stranded in this place. I'm always here._

"Thank you," the woman said, over and over, her eyes wide. "You don't know what this means."

Alex forced a smile onto her lips. "Perhaps not completely. But I think I do, just a fraction."

She didn't last long at her desk, fidgety and restless and glancing up towards the door of Gene's office every few seconds. There was no way she would be able to rest, not with double the weight upon her shoulders.

The eyes of CID were upon her as she burst through, quickly thwarted in their snooping as she rattled the door shut behind her.

"Much obliged that you could answer me invitation," Gene quipped sarcastically, looking up at her from behind his desk. Feet up, he was turning a Rubix cube over in his hands; a substitute for a glass of single malt, but nowhere near as satisfying.

She slammed the photograph down in front of him.

"Melanie Davenport. Thirteen years old. Not a sight nor sound of her for going on 72 hours."

"Probably ran off with 'er mates somewhere," he didn't even have the energy to shrug his shoulders, "they'll be goin' after Adam Ant or whatever new make-up wearin' ponce is in town. S' what teenagers do. I'm sure you did it often enough back in the day, Bols. You were probably the leader of the bloody pack."

Alex shook her head, folded her arms tight against her.

"Supermac's been on the blower again. Reckons the other 'alf are out somewhere near Tower Bridge."

"Screw bloody Supermac!" Her voice raised so much that Mac himself was likely to have heard it, but she didn't care. "You've said yourself, he's likely making fools of us. Who knows, he could be planting any number of guys who fit the bill on the streets and paying them off, all for our benefit."

He pouted at the suggestion, brow furrowing.

She stood straighter, opened up her frame in an attempt to make him less defensive.

"We could waste time on something that will come to nothing. Or we could actually make a difference." She willed herself to hold back the tears in her eyes, not wanting to look vulnerable in front of him. "A little girl's out there, Gene. Frightened and alone."

She didn't need to pull any tricks to convince him further, though she had been more than willing to snatch his keys and make a dash for it if he'd remained unwavering.

"Alright," he mumbled, clambering to his feet and acting the part, even if she knew that inside he was affected, if not quite to the same degree as he was, "I'll round up Tweedledum and Tweedle-twat to come along for the ride."

She managed the smallest, shakiest of smiles, her stomach turning over with each forward step that she took. He swivelled back on his boots sharply, causing her to almost stumble.

"Just one thing, Bolly."

Alex looked him in the eyes, their gazes almost completely level.

"You were speakin' figuratively about screwin' Mac, weren't yer?"

* * *

There was only one thing on her mind as the Quattro circled the suburbs of London, weaving in and out of corners and down along back streets.

One face burned vividly in her brain, no bullet ever strong enough to eradicate it. Yet it seemed other things had dulled her senses of late.

 _I'm so sorry, Molls. I don't know how I'll forgive myself for forgetting you. But I'm going to save you, if you're in trouble. Hold on; it won't be long until I'm back._

 _I promise._

Her gaze was fixed out of the windows, going back and forth between the dashboard and her passenger side, on alert for the smallest sighting of the missing Melanie Davenport. In the back, Ray and Chris were having some kind of disagreement about something highly irrelevant, warring voices steadily bubbling up, and if her attention hadn't been so intently focused she would have screamed at them to stop.

The wheels of the car picked up from the road beneath them, swerving from the street onto the grass of the dense parkland. Her sharp exhalation of breath bounced around the interior.

Gene's hand came to rest upon her leg, daring to creep a little higher within the space of twenty or so seconds.

Disgusted by what she believed was his intention, she wrenched herself away, dismissing his touch.

"Concentrate on the road!" she shrieked, without looking towards him.

There was an indignant beat of silence before he bit back. "Jesus wept. So you've got the decorators in, no need to get uppity with me!"

Perhaps she was hearing things, or another force was filling her head with ideas, but she swore she heard him mutter something along the lines of _"and that's a bloody relief"_ under his breath.

She coiled herself in her seat, hating him with every fibre of her being.

He lowered his head, cursing as rain started to hammer down upon the windscreen.

"This is soddin' useless," he barked, bringing the tyres to a stop as they backed up with mud from the field. "We've gone round the 'hole of London ten times over. It's goin' pitch black. And now the Quattro's gunna look like shit with all this bloody muck under it!"

To punctuate his mood, he popped the buttons on his gloves and flung them one after the other against the dashboard.

"It's gone past 'alf six," Ray observed, "'ave well missed _Final Score_ by now."

"I was gunna take Shaz to the flicks tonight," Chris stage-whispered. "She went out without a brolly, she's gunna kill me."

"Bolly," Gene spoke after a few long moments of silence, having calmed from his previous outburst. Alex felt his steely gaze upon her, but she resolved to stay focused, unflinching at the sound of his voice. _This was all his fault._ "We've gotta call it a day now. Look, I'll get up at the arse-crack of dawn tomorrow. On a Sunday, no less. But for today, it's over."

 _It's over_. The words echoed sickeningly in her head, chanting in a thousand different voices, some more distinguishable than others. Gene's; her mother's; her father's; Evan's; a faceless and nameless doctor at her bedside.

She turned her head to the right, finding herself failed to be soothed by the grey-blue eyes that stared back at her.

"No," she answered solemnly, "I can't do that, Guv."

Her hand sent the door flying open, her legs carrying her forward into the cold and the rain, pulling the sleeves of her jacket tight against her hands; she refrained from taking it off to provide her with some kind of shelter from the downpour.

"God give me strength," Gene muttered, going unheard by her as he turned off the engine, flicking the collar on his coat as he followed in hot pursuit.

Alex was nearly off the field and turning into a murky path surrounded by ragged branches and overgrown hedges before she became aware of his presence.

"I'm not stopping you from going back."

"And leave you out 'ere with god knows what lurkin' in the shadows? I'd be ruddy crucified if anythin' 'appened to you."

"Putting yourself first as ever; how chivalrous of you, Guv."

He started to take on an angrier tone again. "You know I do anythin' _but_ , Drake."

She was just about to turn around to confront him when murmurs came out of the silence, sounding as though they were coming from not too far ahead.

"Can you hear that?" Alex asked.

"Can 'ear somethin'."

Two pairs of boots trotted the short distance to the end of the path, Alex crouching down to peer beneath the undergrowth. Her breath caught in her throat on seeing a small hand, covered with a few scratches, and on looking more keenly she made out one brown eye and a haze of dark-blonde wavy hair.

"Mum?" the almost-horizontal, largely hidden figure called out.

Her heart lurched within the cavern of her chest. _Not Molly, but close enough for her to pretend._

"Melanie," she replied, reaching her own hand out amongst the tangle of weeds that acted as a barrier between the girl and her rescuers. "Don't be scared. You're safe now."

The word _darling_ died on her lips before it could come to life, as the touch of one hand confirmed that the truth she wanted to believe in remained nothing but an illusion, and the touch of another kept her rooted upon the ground, even as it helped to pull her upwards.

* * *

An interview room in a near-deserted police station was no place for a thirteen year-old girl, especially not on a Saturday evening. She should be dancing along to the radio in her bedroom with a couple of friends, or curled up on the sofa watching television with her mum. Alex wanted to wrap Melanie up in a blanket, keep her at a safe distance from the cruel adult world. _They grow up so fast, in the mere blink of an eye._

She'd dried off from the rain and some of the colour was returning to her cheeks. Alex was worried that she hadn't eaten anything yet – not even a chocolate bar from the sole vending machine that actually worked – and only a few small sips of water had passed her lips. Gene had seen the concern written all over her face and assured her that Melanie would perk up in time. It was just the two of them that had returned to the station, the rest of the team earning what was left of their weekend.

She took his words of promise without argument, even though they ran straight through her. She was simply too tired to take him to task. _He's not a parent. I am. What could he possibly tell me about a child's behaviour that I don't already know?_

Her head pounded with dull pain; her mind feeling as though it was being steadily emptied of its memories. Taking Molly to the park, her first day at secondary school. That wasn't even that long ago, and yet she had no recollection.

She looked across the table at the sorrowful figure, too small for the chair she was sitting in.

 _Molls. Why can't I see you? Why can't I remember..._

"Right, little lady," Gene broke the silence, standing at a short distance from the table, his tone not holding the least bit of its usual abrasiveness in such a situation, "I'm afraid we're gunna have to keep you 'ere for a little while, before you can see yer mum. Is that alright?"

Melanie nodded.

"Now, if you like, it can be just you and DI Drake and I'll wait outside."

The voice came as a shock to Alex, as the girl had barely said more than two words since they'd arrived.

"No, it's okay," Melanie replied, her eyes lifting from her lap and looking at Gene. "I don't mind you being here."

Alex gave Gene a small smile as he took his seat, still backed away, letting her take the lead.

"I want to let you know, Melanie, that you're not in any trouble. None at all." She kept her voice soft, unable to prevent her natural instincts from kicking in. "And you've been so brave. You've done so well. Please remember that."

Melanie's gaze went from Alex, to Gene, and back again. The girl took in a breath and reached for the glass of water that was surely tepid by now. Alex noted the trembling of her fingertips, hating herself for having to play the role of Detective Inspector rather than that of a mother at this moment in time.

She inhaled a deep breath herself, gathering the strength she needed to continue.

"We've got a few questions to ask you. They won't take long, but if you can answer them as much as you can, it'll be such a big help to us." She smiled, though it felt out of place upon her lips. "Do you feel okay to do that?"

After a few seconds of consideration, Melanie nodded.

"I'm sorry, Melanie," Alex said regretfully, "we have to hear it from you. It's silly, I know."

"Yes," the girl answered. "Yes, I can do that."

She imagined Molly in the same situation, acting in completely the same way, and already she couldn't bear it. The only thing she wanted to do was burst through the doors and run away, wake up in her hospital bed and see her little girl's face before her, telling her that everything was alright.

But she couldn't hear her. All she heard was yawning, deafening silence.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Gene's small smile of reassurance.

Melanie didn't falter in the questioning. It was ridiculous, but Alex felt a sense of pride swell within her for how well the girl did against such an ordeal, though she did what she could to make it as easy as possible. She supplied them with a detailed description of the man who abducted her, down to the colour and pattern on the frames of the glasses he wore and the distinctive scar that marked his left cheek. It was more than enough for them to go on.

Alex hesitated, the final question she had to ask suspended upon her tongue. The prospect was never a palatable one to face, especially not for one so young and innocent. She felt the need to apologise to the girl, wanted to keep telling her that if something had happened that it was most certainly not her fault.

"While you were there, did this man..." she stumbled over her words, needing a glass of water of her own to quench her parched throat, "...did he hurt you in any way? Force himself on you?"

The silence within the space of seconds was unbearable.

"No," Melanie answered, and Alex could have collapsed with relief. "I...I think he was _going_ to, before I ran away. That's why I hit him with the lamp stand. It wasn't enough, so I kneed him down below when he came towards me, and then he curled up on the floor and was shouting and screaming in pain."

"Clever girl," Gene piped up from his seat.

"Can I see my Mum now?"

Alex nodded towards the girl, still finding herself lost for words. "Yes, you can. You've done wonderfully, Melanie."

Melanie pushed the seat back with her heels, her face genuinely lighting up for the first time at the prospect of being reunited with her mother. She beamed a smile at both Gene and Alex, and said "thank you for helping me".

"Melanie," Alex uttered the girl's name before the three of them left the room, "you should know that your mum is so proud of you. You mean the world to her, and she's going to be so happy that you're here and you're so well."

She watched as Melanie ran into the arms of her mother from afar, and couldn't stop her expression from crumpling, her heart never having ached so much.

"You alright, Bolly?"

She turned around at Gene's voice, tears stinging in her eyes.

"Yeah," she affirmed, straightening herself up, "that was tough. I wasn't sure I was going to get through it."

"Yer handled it well." His gaze was intense, and she felt guilt for letting herself be drawn towards him again. She told herself that it was the comfort that she craved, and that made it alright. "A natural. Thought it best not to interfere."

She smiled at him, berating herself for being so sure that he wouldn't understand.

"Daughter back with her mother. That's the main thing."

She missed her own mother, felt another stab of sorrow that she had been powerless and let history repeat itself. If there was any other choice that it couldn't.

"I'm almost a hundred per cent that I know who it is," he said, moving closer to her though there was nobody else about. "Leonard Morris. Been on the books for a while, right scrawny little creep. There's never been enough evidence before, but snatchin' little girls just about digs 'is own grave for 'im."

Despite the fury she felt, Alex frowned. "We have to go carefully, it's a big risk. You can't go charging in like a bull in a china shop."

Whether he took her words on board, she couldn't be sure. She hoped she was having some effect upon his professional behaviour, at least, but she also couldn't have blamed him if he did take his usual approach, and even found herself relishing the chance to stand and watch as he beat such a pathetic excuse for a man to a pulp. She could be horrified at herself later; now, she just required the security.

"Another day, another bastard on the horizon," he uttered as they made to depart for the night, "and this one's goin' to be a hell of a catch."

* * *

She hadn't stopped shivering since being delivered from the scene of the crime, still able to feel the clammy hands tracing her skin. The headache she'd had for days had built to a crescendo and she didn't have the energy to move from the spot she had gravitated to, staring off into the distance, wishing she could feel as blank and unaffected.

 _It had all moved so fast. Despite her pleas to take things slowly Gene had been insistent, saying that there wasn't any point in pissing about now they had their target. He was riled up, full of adrenaline; she could read the look in his eyes, feel his force-field vibrating around the station. It was so overpowering that she couldn't help latching on, and unable to shake the feeling that something was putting her daughter in danger in 'real time' she was quickly carried along by the wave. There would be little need for chase and pursuit; Morris was known to be a virtual recluse, living in the same apartment block as he had done for the past decade._

 _They'd lured him out, along with a few other curtain-twitching residents, with the aid of a loudspeaker. It had been somewhat of a risky tactic, but given that their suspect was already cornered there had been little other option. He resisted for long enough before breaking cover, bringing himself and another hostage, a woman in her early twenties, to the window. Whilst Gene shouted the odds, she knew that the best thing to do was to compromise. She couldn't live with a fatality on her hands._

 _Let her go, she pleaded with Morris. Let her go, and you can have me as a replacement._

 _Gene's cries of 'Bolly' and 'you daft bleedin' mare' rang in her ears but she paid no mind, bounding up the several flights of stairs that took her to Morris's door. Her body flooded with relief when the younger woman flew out, and she didn't need to tell her to run down to safety._

 _The flat was cluttered, but not a thing was out of place. A distinctive smell hung in the air, nothing unpleasant but a decaying, old scent; something that didn't quite fit with the current time. Morris eyed her carefully, asked her name. She wondered whether she should lie, but decided to be straight._

 _AD, he repeated. Anno Domini. Do you believe in the Lord, Alex? Sacrifice before redemption._

 _She listened to his ranting, as calmly as it was delivered, being careful in her replies. It was quite easy to make a misstep with someone such as Morris, and she wasn't in her right frame of mind anyway. Not that that was much of an excuse._

 _She couldn't even recall what it was that she had said, but it had taken him less than a second to react adversely, kicking her to the floor and placing the sharp point of a blade near to her throat._

 _She didn't believe, but by God, she prayed. Prayed that Molly was safe and would remember her somewhere other than on that fateful day._

 _More than ten seconds couldn't have passed until Gene barricaded the door, backed up by Ray and Chris. He must have been on her heels from the first flight she had ascended. Everything was a blur in those couple of minutes, blood rushing to and blocking her ears. All she remembered was her hands against his frame, clinging on for dear life._

 _She also remembered Gene shouting at her, exasperated as he carried her to safety for the countless time. "I swear you've got a bloody death wish."_

 _Not quite, she answered him within her head._

 _Ray and Chris were left behind to apprehend Morris, as he got her back into the open air. The leather of his gloves smooth against her skin as he took her face in his hands, the blinking of his eyes helping to regulate her heart rate to a better level. She mumbled an apology as he checked her over, reassuring himself that she hadn't got caught by the knife._

" _I dunno, Bolly," he said, sounding almost deafening as the volume righted itself in her ears, though really he was speaking in little more than a whisper, "you're goin' to be the death of me one of these days."_

She wiped a hand against her forehead, the silence that had been soothing her soul and aching temples interrupted as Gene could be heard rattling around in the cupboards. Understandably, she hadn't been up to joining the rest of the team in Luigi's, and Gene had decided that he needed to escort her not only to her flat but to keep her company for the rest of the night. If it had been any other night she wouldn't have objected, but as it was she craved a bit of peace and quiet. Maybe he felt responsible, even if she acknowledged that all the mistakes made this time around had been her own.

He appeared in the doorway clutching two glasses.

"Where d'you keep yer stash, Bols?" he asked gruffly. "Don't tell me you've chucked it all out because of this stupid bloody bet."

"Gene, no..."

"You're shaking like a shitting dog. You need a drink."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head fiercely. "I don't. I'm fine, honestly."

He retreated back into the kitchen, proceeding to bang one door after another.

"Well, _I_ need a drink. Could sink a brewery, and it still wouldn't be enough..."

The insistent pulsing against her temples, Gene making a racket, the sound of Molly's half-remembered voice running around in her head. All of them unrelenting.

"For God's sake, Gene, will you just stop!"

The dams had reached their breaking point and so had she, powerless to stop the tears she had kept within her chest for days from finally finding their release. All the broken fragments of her fell one by one to the floor as she sat there, unable to do anything to put them back together.

Through her blurred vision she saw Gene's figure coming towards her, his stance the most uncertain and awkward as she had ever seen it.

"Oh, Christ," he murmured.

She knew she was making him uncomfortable, and in some strange way felt a bit better for that. He hovered in front of the sofa at his full height, not crouching before her on his knees as he had done on the ground outside the apartment block. Now, his defences were back up in place.

"Don't cry, Bols. That's an order."

They were off the clock, so it was completely ineffective.

The tears were streaming down her cheeks, her shoulders heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

"You...you don't get it, Gene," she managed to say, raising her head to lock eyes with him, aware that she looked an utter fright. "I'm on my own here. Completely" – she choked back a heavy sob that made her throat burn – "alone."

He gave her a few seconds of contemplation before pulling her off the sofa to stand in front of him. She wanted to resist him, fight against the pull he was exerting over her, but she was far too weak to do so. Even at her full strength it had proved impossible.

"Well, that's a load of shit," he helpfully stated, his hand resting above her waist. "Yer not alone. You've got the team. I mean, they're not the brightest bunch of bulbs, but they're dependable, at least."

She sniffed back her tears, deciding she'd behaved badly enough. His fingers were moving just perceptibly against the fabric of her top, and her nervous system had finally decided to comply, stopping her from trembling.

"You've got me," he said after a few more seconds, confiding it as though it were a secret as their gazes connected again.

Alex felt so woozy that she felt she might faint to the floor, if he hadn't been holding onto her so tight.

"Thought you'd know that by now with the amount of times I've had to ride to yer rescue." Just like that, the spell was temporarily broken, his tone turning back to the flippant. "Bloody hell, you're worse than a cat with the lives you use up."

She held onto his forearms as she looked up at him again. _God, I hope I've still got at least a couple left._ The sobbing had abated but she felt wrung out, slumping her whole body weight against his chest. She felt him tensing with the shock of it for a few seconds, but then he relaxed just as she had, arms circling around her and keeping her close in his embrace.

Slowly, she felt herself crawling back to life, towards the light.

"Gene?" she whispered, her fingers playing with the lapel of his jacket.

"Hmm?"

She was desperate for validation, felt it become her lifeline – especially when it came from him.

"Do you think if I've saved some lives, that means I'm worth saving?"

His hands were on her shoulders, pushing her back from the warmth of his body but keeping her in his grasp, his eyes roaming her face as though he was searching for an answer himself.

"Come on, Alex. Don't talk bollocks." His lips quirked for a second or two, his hands upon her arms conveying more of what he really meant. "Course you are. Now, that's enough of that."

His arm gripped her about the waist, righting her on her feet. He didn't stop her from draping an arm around his shoulders, welcoming their connection.

"What you need is a decent night's kip," he commanded, his voice gentler than it typically was. "Shagged out, that's what you are."

"Whose fault is that?" she replied, battling back a yawn as he all but carried her across the floor.

"Don't you go blamin' me. I've never felt so knackered in me whole life. Bloody worn out tryin' to keep up with all of your needs, woman."

She circled both arms about his shoulders, smiling hazily as she backed them both into her bedroom.

"You'll stay though, won't you?" Her eyes blinked open, holding strong with his. Right now she could think of nothing better than burrowing herself beneath the sheets with him beside her, there should she need assistance to fight off any demons in the night. "Please, Gene."

He pouted as he tilted his head down towards her, pushing the door open behind her back.

"Can't see that I've got anywhere else to be, Bols. As long as you give me a shove in the mornin', I think we'll be alright."

She smiled, feeling herself relax properly for the first time in two days solid.

"I can do a little more than that," she promised, even as her eyes were close to drifting closed.

* * *

 **A/N: Avid readers may have spotted that I have borrowed a few things from S2 for this story, and there'll be more to come! I love the "do you think if I've saved some lives..." scene (mainly for the look in Gene's eyes when he hears that question down the phone-line) but I couldn't resist the chance for it to be said face-to-face. (and Alex does get herself into some scrapes, doesn't she? Good job she has someone looking out for her...)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This chapter is super long (not as long as the next one though), but we are approaching the end so my excuse is having to cram a lot in, and I'm sticking to it ;) Oh, and I'm borrowing a bit from actual canon again, but there is a reason why, I promise. (and after a relative absence of smut in the last couple of chapters, this one is quite saucy *fans self*)**

* * *

Chapter 8

"We've gotta 'ide it somewhere. Else 'e's gunna see it when 'e comes in."

"Oh, no bloody shit, Sherlock."

Chris ignored Ray's quip, guiding the wheels across the floor of CID. After a fair bit of deliberation – predominately coming from him and Shaz, as well as DI Drake – they'd come to a decision on what to get Viv for his birthday. The original suggestion of a hamper full of booze had been dismissed by Shazza for being too obvious; not to mention that it'd send the Guv ballistic to have so much ale lying around that he couldn't so much as take a sniff of. Chris remembered something that Viv had said about enjoying cycling, so – with little else springing to mind – the division had clubbed together, chipping in a bit each to buy a new bike for the skipper. Well, it was second-hand, but it was in pretty good nick. It'd had a new paint job and tyres put on.

DC Skelton eyed it a little enviously with the handlebars gripped in his palms. He'd thought about taking it outside and giving it a test-run – just to check that everything was alright with it, of course – seeing if he could perfect a wheelie after all the years that had passed since he'd last had a bike of his own. The look of consternation in Shazza's eyes had been enough to put him off, even though he hadn't said a word. It was Viv's birthday today after all, and he supposed it was just as well he didn't end up inadvertently crashing it into a wall and spoiling everything. The Skip was a top bloke; surely he'd let him have a go soon enough.

The only trouble with a bike was that it couldn't be easily disguised. Far easier to wrap up bottles of booze; at least you could try and make them look like something else.

"Take it in the women's bogs," DS Carling suggested, looking rather pleased with himself for thinking of such a ingenious hiding place, "no one other than 'er and Drake go in there. Unless..." His eyes took on a sudden glint, a smirk stretching across his face. "Little Miss Posh is lookin' a lot perkier of late. She could be gettin' her rocks off under our very noses."

Ray crossed his arms over his chest as he grinned, making a point of shifting in his seat.

"Oof, blimey. Remind me to go and check things out later on. I reckon she's the type to skip lunch to get 'er mouth round somethin' else..."

"You really are a dirty pervert," Shaz exclaimed to a less-than-shamefaced DS Carling. "What is it they say; all talk means no action..."

"Ey, I get _loads_ of action. Don't you worry your pretty 'ead about that."

"Whatever," Shaz scoffed, directing her attention away from Ray and his mucky ideas and towards an increasingly perturbed-looking Chris. "Pop it in one of the interview rooms."

"Good thinkin', Batman," Chris grinned goofily at his girlfriend. "I mean, Batgirl. Or woman, whatever you like..."

Ray turned in his chair, looking at Poirot and Terry on the next set of desks. "Doesn't listen to me, but she says 'jump' and he asks 'ow bloody high."

Chris wheeled the bike out of the main office, taking it carefully down the corridor and in the direction of the interview rooms. He discounted the first one, just to be on the safe side, and instead stopped outside Room Two. He was just about to turn the handle of the door when he heard something inside. Soft murmurs, accompanied by heavier groans. It sounded like a woman and a man, and as though they were having it off. No, he must have been hearing things. Maybe Shazza was right, and he was spending too much time with Ray, automatically thinking the same kinds of things he did.

The moaning stopped for a few moments and DC Skelton felt a relief wash over him. _It was nothing_. He didn't know why it had popped into his head; it had been ages since he had watched one of those films. Certainly not since he had been with Shaz.

What he heard next couldn't be so easily explained away. The male voice raised with a roar as Chris pressed his ear against the door – just to be certain – and very distinctly cried out.

" _Oh, fuckin' hell...Alex..."_

Chris sprang back, his hand slipping and the bell next to the handlebar ringing out shrill, its sound bouncing off the walls. In panic, the DC looked from side to side before scarpering back in the direction he had come from, the tyres of the bike catching upon the polished floor.

 _That couldn't be...not the Guv. And not giving one to the...Ma'am. Or she was giving one to him, by the sounds of things._

He burst back into the room that contained the rest of the team, his eyes wide and his hair feeling like it was standing on end.

"What are you still doin' with that?" Ray questioned him, "the Skipper's gunna get 'ere any minute."

"I...er..." He couldn't get his words out properly. Truth be told, he hadn't even heard what Ray had said.

All he could hear going round and round in his head was the panting, the moaning and groaning. _Jesus...Alex...don't you bloody dare stop._

"Do you think it's...like, it could be haunted in 'ere?"

Ray let out a loud guffaw. " _Haunted?_ You daft bloody twonk. Yeah, all those hard-done-by scumbags from centuries ago are goin' to 'ang around 'ere for the rest of time. Give it a bleedin' rest."

Chris mumbled as he kept his eyes to the ground, not daring to give anything away. "You don't know."

"I think I do." Ray blustered his way round the desk, wrestling the bike from Chris's loosened grasp. "Give it 'ere, I'll put it out by the shed. Dunno why nobody thought of that before!"

Sitting himself down, the colour was still taking some time to come back into DC Skelton's cheeks. He took a pen from the pot in front of him, twiddling it in his hand before putting it back again. Or at least he aimed to, but missed instead and caused the rest of the contents of the pot to roll out upon the desk.

"Is something wrong, baby?"

He looked up to see Shaz standing there, files clutched to her chest, her eyes soft and warm. He could tell her anything, all of his deepest secrets and his most bizarre wonderings; she never judged him for anything, even when he knew that he sounded ridiculous.

"Shazza," he began, not sure whether he should say anything. He didn't want to end up hanging by his kecks from a lamppost if the Guv ever found out what he had implied. "You don't think the Guv and DI Drake are, er...you know."

A little smile edged the corners of her lips upwards. "What?"

His eyes dropped to the surface of the desk. "I can't even say it."

Her hand rested delicately upon his shoulder. "I dunno. But it's none of our business if they are."

"Yeah," Chris looked up at his girlfriend again, feeling a bit less awkward, "I s'pose it isn't."

Shaz bent to plant a kiss upon Chris's cheek, ruffling his hair slightly before she turned to walk away, flipping the files she held in her hands. She wouldn't say anything about her own suspicions; not here, anyway. But she was pretty definite about what she'd heard as she'd passed through the corridors the other week. Ray had got the bit about the ladies' loos wrong, thankfully, and she wasn't going to stop him from lurking outside and making a twit of himself, if he really was so convinced.

The very same came running back into CID a couple of minutes later, nearly skidding upon the floor.

"I 'eard footsteps," he announced, plonking himself down behind his desk, "reckon Skip's on 'is way."

The team assembled themselves, letting off a party popper each and shouting out 'surprise!' at the tops of their voices, only to be disappointed when their senior officers strode through the doors.

"Now this is the kind of welcome I could get used to," Gene announced, though he was less than pleased at the multi-coloured string adorning the arms of his jacket, picking it off with a pout emblazoned on his face.

"Bugger, that's all we 'ad," Ray mumbled.

"It's for Viv's birthday, Guv," Shaz helpfully clarified.

"Oh, good. We gunna get some jelly and ice cream as well?" The Guv shook his head in disbelief. "The man's not five years old. Should do things bloody properly, not 'ave all this crap clogging the place up!"

As Gene bellowed at them to clear the mess up, Viv slipped in somewhat unnoticed.

"I don't mind it, Guv. Takes me back a bit."

Everyone turned around to face the skipper, mumbling out less-spirited cries than moments previously of 'surprise' and 'happy birthday Skip'. Viv didn't seem to mind the damp squib, chuckling at the sight of the office.

One by one they went up to greet him personally, clapping him on the back and offering handshakes.

"Happy birthday, Viv," Alex exclaimed, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Blimey, I should have my birthday more often," he joked after the cat-calls had died down.

Gene stepped forward out of the throng, the stony expression on his face softening as he grasped Viv by the hand.

"All the best, Skip."

"Thanks, Guv."

While the fuss continued Shaz sidled over to Alex, poking her lightly on the shoulder.

"Ma'am..."

Alex stared at Shaz, remaining oblivious until the younger woman pointed down slightly, drawing attention to the wrongly-fastened buttons at the top of her blouse. She fumbled with them straightaway, smiling awkwardly as she did so.

"Thank you," she whispered, grateful for the commotion amongst the rest of the team.

Shaz nodded and smiled to herself. _They aren't making things easy on themselves._

"Main event tonight at Luigi's, half seven kick-off," Ray's voice raised above the others, "be there or be square. Like a couple of people I won't mention..."

"Thank you for the public service announcement, Raymondo," Gene swiftly intervened. "Now that all the palaver's over and done with, shall we get on with business? These bastards aren't goin' to catch themselves."

A muted chorus of 'yes, Guv' rang out as the members of CID scrabbled back to their desks. Alex leant against her own station, sharing a glance with Gene as he walked past, her body thrumming from their latest rendezvous in Room Two. His eyes were still hooded as he looked at her surreptitiously and she felt the tingling at the apex of her thighs, pressing them together in a vain attempt to halt it, recalling how those eyes had stared into her own before he had to clamp them shut, bliss claiming him completely. There were few things that made her as weak with desire as bearing witness to his surrender, fighting to stay in control until the very last second. But he was so good at letting go, and so majestic too...

Sitting down she reached to her right-hand side, needing the file that was in easy distance to cool herself. She smiled unsteadily at Viv as he passed, and reminded herself that she needed to buy the skipper a drink or two later on, as thanks for keeping everyone else distracted.

* * *

She had been approaching the party with some trepidation – haunted as she was by the last significant birthday celebration she could recall, the one that she never actually got to go to – but once she was into the swing of things it hadn't been all that bad.

The rest of the team, as well as a couple of other divisions, packed out Luigi's to the rafters. Alex smiled as she squeezed and shimmied her way through the crowd, chuckling as the remnants of some newly-discovered party poppers were thrown about her shoulders. Everyone was having such a good time and it raised her spirits too, despite everything. She set her sights on the lone figure propping up the bar, even though he wasn't partaking in sinking whatever was behind it. It was only right that they should stay together; sticks-in-the-mud, steering clear from spoiling everybody else's fun.

Even without their common factor of being teetotal – for a few days more, at least – she imagined that she would have gravitated towards him regardless. A moth to a flame, unable to resist and getting herself into just as much trouble.

He eyed her, and specifically the gold lame dress that felt as though it was creeping further up her backside with each step that she took.

"Skimpy enough?" she asked him, turning to the side to give him a view from a different angle.

He managed to drag his eyes upwards so that they were level with her own. "It's a start."

She hid her pleased smile easily, as his gaze went back to ogling her legs before she perched herself on the stool next to him. They stayed in companionable silence – as silent as they could be with music blasting out from the far corner of the room – for a little while, watching as the others danced and jumped about, some people showing off more than others.

"It's nice for us to all get together like this."

"What are you talkin' about, woman? We're 'ere nearly every bleedin' night of the week," Gene scoffed. "Unless you've lost yer short-term memory, as well as the rest of yer faculties."

"I mean for an occasion," she clarified, "a happy time."

Because that's what birthdays were. It was right there in the greeting. _You'll be happy again, Molls, and so will I._

She stared into the silvery-blue eyes that sought to defy her words.

"Not so 'appy once you reach a certain point. Dunno why anyone would want to be reminded of it. Another year goin' by, a little bit further to bein' ready for the scrapheap."

"Well, remind me not to bother planning your party." She twisted her frame towards where he was leaning, her elbow planted upon the bar. "Ooh, let me guess how old you are!"

He fixed her with a hard stare, which she couldn't help but find really quite attractive.

"Two can play at that game, Bols."

Good point; she had a feeling that he wouldn't be quite so generous, on purpose.

"At any rate, you're not past your best." She ignored the scowl on his face, calling Luigi out from behind the bar to back up her argument. "Isn't that right, Luigi? Signor Hunt is still in his prime."

The Italian frowned a little, tilting his head to the side to appraise Gene. "You are like a good wine, Signor Hunt. You grow better with age."

"Flamin' hell, it's Viv who should be feelin' shit about 'imself today, not me."

Alex smirked, waiting until Luigi was out of earshot to lean in yet closer to where he was standing, lowering her voice to whisper seductively.

"At least everything's still in very good working order."

He swivelled his head towards her, eyes dropping to her lips. She thought that she heard him suppress a growl in his throat, or perhaps she needed a couple more mini pork-pies to stave off hunger. She took a gulp of lemonade, the bubbles tickling against her throat as she swallowed too fast.

Gene clapped a hand between her shoulder-blades as she continued to cough.

"Alright, Bollykecks?"

She nodded, not quite having caught her breath back properly.

"Best sticking to the water, I think."

Luigi came to her aid, smiling as he supplied her with a glass of still liquid.

Carefully wiping away the prickles of tears that had stung her eyes, Alex was drawn again to the only other couple in the room – _not that she thought of herself and Gene as a couple, not in the conventional sense; they were just united by some forces of their own making and others far beyond their control._

She watched with a wistful smile on her face as Chris leaned in to Shaz's side and put an arm around her waist, whispering something in her ear, both of them giggling afterwards.

"They're very sweet, aren't they?"

Gene looked blank for a moment or two.

"Skelton and Granger? I think the word you're looking for is 'naive', Bolly. Or otherwise, both as thick as each other."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he popped the question soon enough. He's just besotted with her."

She remembered a time when she felt the same way – or at the very least, she thought she had. Pete was very good at all the sugary talk, promises he couldn't keep. And she had fell for it, hook line and sinker.

"Wants 'is 'ead examinin'. Bloody life sentence, worse than anythin' the Old Bailey hand out."

Alex looked at him with doleful eyes.

"Count meself lucky that I was able to make an escape, better late than never."

She took another sip of water, shaking her head. "Birthdays, weddings. Are there any occasions that you're not personally offended by?"

He considered for a moment, examining the palm of his hand. "There's always a good piss-up at christenings. Wetting the baby's 'ead an' all that."

She slumped in her chair, hopes of his sentimental side coming to the fore dissolving before her very eyes. Her homesickness grew deeper when Viv was presented with a birthday cake, complete with flickering candles, the gradually fading memory flashing sharp in her head.

 _Don't blow out the candles yet, Molls. Keep hanging on; I won't be long, I promise._

As everybody sung happy birthday she turned her head towards Gene, watching him mouth the words to the familiar tune. He was all she had in this world, and she hoped that he would remain constant to her, even when this act of theirs had to meet its inevitable conclusion.

Cheers went up around her and she joined in the applause, not wanting to look out of place.

"Speech!" a number of the team called out, urging Viv on to say a few words.

"Thanks, thanks a lot," he said, looking faintly embarrassed. The stoic, silent type; good at keeping their rag-tag bunch together. "Erm, I don't know what to say."

It was her intention to come to his rescue, that was all. She didn't want another person to feel as awkward as she did, especially not someone as dignified as Viv.

"Maybe I could say a few words."

"Oh, good," Gene mumbled as she got out of her seat, walking further towards where everyone was gathered.

She smiled, slightly uneasy as she stood, all eyes upon her.

"Well, Viv," she cast a glance towards him, drawing upon her reserves, "he's not just our skipper, he's...well, he's the lynch-pin. At the heart of a group of people who've become really very special to me over time, and, er..."

She stumbled slightly over her improvised speech, her eyes catching Gene's as he remained at the back of the crowd.

"And I think it's very important at occasions like this to... well, to let people know your... your real feelings about them."

Her breath stuttered in her chest; now was not the time to give herself away. Gene didn't take his gaze from her, looking at her as though he was staring straight through her. She let out a little cough, composing herself before continuing.

"And well...I don't know how much longer I'll be around, so I suppose that I wanted to say that...well, that I love you."

She allowed herself to look at Gene for a moment or so, before glancing around the room, towards Shaz, Chris, Ray.

"Each and every one of you. I love you."

She raised her glass in the air, a bit annoyed that it didn't contain anything stronger.

"So, happy birthday Viv, and bon voyage!"

 _Oh god. Did I really just say that? And I can't even blame it on being pissed._

As silence continued to deafen the room, she felt a pair of familiar hands on her shoulders.

"Alright, whoever spiked Bolly Knickers' glass with loopy juice, admit to it now. Although, given her credentials so far, she probably 'ad that planned all along."

The atmosphere was broken by a chorus of laughter, and she smiled awkwardly as Gene's palms rubbed against the fabric of her dress, causing static to prickle against her skin.

"Go on, Guv," Ray piped up, "say a few words."

"And top that? Not sure I'm the man for the job."

He gave her a brief smile before he nudged past her, holding court as was usual.

"You all know I'm shit at this. Actions speak louder than words an' all that guff. And I haven't even got a pint in me 'and as a fallback." He paused for thought for a moment or two. "I remember when we were evicted from paradise and sent down to this southern shithole. Viv came over to me, shook my 'and and said he was sorry, but all Northerners looked the same to him."

Everyone laughed.

"It was from that moment on that I thought that maybe all Southerners weren't top grade wankers, and Viv most definitely isn't."

"Thanks, Guv," Viv dead-panned.

"Short story is, we don't know 'ow lucky we are to 'ave a skipper like Viv. And long may he reign." He raised the empty glass in his hand aloft. "To Viv. The very best of men."

"To Viv!" the room chorused in unison.

Leaving the raucous applause behind him he slinked back to the bar, Alex following in a daze, feeling somewhat starstruck. His presence was often undeniable, but this time he wasn't using it to intimidate or overrule. He'd allowed his true soul to slip out, half-masqueraded by humour but real and heartfelt all the same.

She felt more assured in giving up a piece of her heart to him, already knowing that he was capable of so much more than his surface appearance showed.

"That was very well said," she exclaimed, choosing to stand, knocking her shoulder against his arm.

He shrugged while he turned to her. "I only tell the truth, Bolly. No point in fannyin' about with a load of empty words."

She watched him take a swig of water from his replenished glass. He likely wasn't having a dig at her, just being off the cuff as was normal for him, but she felt the sting all the same.

"I meant it," she uttered, staring at him, letting the open statement linger between them before she felt the need to expand. "I do think the world of you all."

He raised his chin. "Want to put it in any particular order? On second thoughts, best not. Don't wanna end up with one of those bloody complexes you're so fond of deconstructin'."

She let out a laugh, a true smile lighting her eyes.

"You'll miss me when I'm gone."

She'd tried to get the words out of him before, to no avail. Perhaps this time, when his defences were down just a little.

"Like a hole in the bloody 'ead."

The small smile that started to play upon his lips showed another side to his words.

He leant over the bar, pressing his arm to hers and his thigh against the curve of her bum. The beginning of a tingling sensation started to charge through her.

"Dunno why you want to 'ear it so badly," he rasped into her ear, his hand resting at the small of her back, fingertips teasing. "Like I said, Bols, actions speak louder than words."

* * *

It had nearly killed them both, having to stay on the sidelines and keep their mutual desire restrained; even after Viv went home the others seemed determined to pull an all-nighter in his honour. Poor Luigi looked exasperated as the booze continued to flow, the music turning louder. They had to settle for exchanging lustful glances over the bar, pulses steadily escalating. Retreating to their usual table had its advantages, watching the others make fools of themselves while they barely remained in control. Gene's hand didn't stay still resting at the top of her thigh for very long and she had to suppress a moan, shooting daggers at him as he gave her a good grope out of view, his expression as smug as anything as he smirked back at her.

The party finally reached its conclusion, Gene assisting Luigi by frog-marching everyone out of the restaurant's doors. Alex watched on, feeling ridiculously aroused; mere minutes later she was the one making all of the demands, gleeful as she got her hands on him. The bluster seemed to have left him as he was quite happy to let her drag him upstairs, chuckling and mumbling _'dirty mare'_ as they made their way.

She beat a determined path straight to the sofa, pulling him down with her, feeling as though she possessed an invincible kind of strength. It was amazing what you could be capable of when you were horny as hell. Words were put to one side as she went in for the kill, seizing hold of his face whilst his hands placed themselves halfway between her breasts and hips. Snogging like teenagers, near breathless, fingers fumbling. She started on the buttons of his shirt before another urge possessed her, and she twisted her hand into his hair, overwhelmed by touching, smelling, tasting him. A faint memory of the morning, her legs clamping around him as he loomed over her in the interview room. The same kind of hungry, messy kisses passing between them.

" _Why are you so irresistible, DCI Hunt?" she'd managed to say, wrenching her gaze away from his hypnotising one and watching, near-pleading with him as he was on the verge of entering her, making her his for what time she couldn't even remember._

 _He pulled her by the waist, causing her arse to skim over the table-top and his rigid cock to fill her in a searing second. The pleasure was so immediate and immense that she couldn't make a sound to adequately match it. Right away he was thrusting into her, one hand clamped to her on the right side of pain. His lips were gentler as they kissed and nibbled at the column of her neck._

" _It's me aftershave, love..."_

His fingers inched their way further up, tantalisingly creeping under the hem of the short dress. At the heightened sensation of his touch she broke away from his mouth, unable to stop herself from making a desperate moan as his fingertips kneaded.

"When's your birthday, Bols?" he rasped, his thumb running little circles dangerously close to her lace-covered centre.

"April." She clung onto his neck tighter, stealing small and frantic kisses from his lips.

"Can't wait that long to give you yer present..."

He flung her against the length of the sofa, his hands grasping at the shiny and tight material of her dress. She laughed huskily, feeling a sense of déjà-vu as she helped him in the struggle, lifting her arms and wriggling. His hands were like fire against her bared skin; she cried out in bliss as they caressed her, the bra she was wearing joining the infernal dress on the floor, got rid of at a far quicker rate.

Her own hands didn't stay still as she sought to unwrap, starting on his belt and trousers and then working her way upwards, grasping the tail of his shirt.

"No vest," she remarked in delight, taking the brazen opportunity to run her hands over his bare chest before he shrugged off the shirt completely.

He smirked down at her, holding back as she grazed her nails against his skin. "I can do slutty an'all."

She giggled in pure joy, though she was soon silenced when he pressed himself against her, boxers halfway down his hips. She realised that the sofa wasn't the most comfortable she had ever experienced as her body was crushed deeper into it, but it was the last thing to be bothered about.

"Jesus Christ, I dunno 'ow you stop lookin' at yerself in the mirror every morning." His gaze lingered on her dips and curves, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Everythin' about you, Bolly..."

He didn't finish the compliment, whatever it was, appearing as if he was in some kind of trance.

Such moments of utter distraction were rare for him, and she wasn't going to let the chance pass her by.

"You're to be admired yourself, _Guv_ ," she purred, bringing one hand up and taking him out of his boxers, using her other to yank the material past his arse.

Before she could really get to work, he gathered her wrists and pinned them above her head, giving her a firm _no-you-don't_ look and causing her to gasp in a breath. Sparks of excitement ran up and down her body, watching as he stood to get rid of his underwear and the trousers that had gathered at his ankles, kicking them away. Lowering himself back onto his knees he brought his hands over her, stroking languidly. He dipped his head down, trailing his tongue between the valley of her breasts but stopping short at her navel. Once there he reared back, massaging her hipbones before peeling the black lace clean away from her thighs and legs.

"Gene, please."

She was aware that she was begging, but she had stopped caring minutes ago. Though they'd been good enough for months it was now the case that her own fingers didn't do the job as half as well.

That smirk was back on his face as his hand delved slowly down, right where she needed it to be. The feeling of those long, elegant fingers parting her folds, slipping inside, set every nerve in her shuddering; she didn't expect that she would ever get over the sensation.

"Just can't help yerself, can yer?" he murmured, setting into a slow rhythm, eyes flitting from her responsive body up to her face. "Must 'ave been uncomfortable though. Sittin' there all night with yer knickers drenched."

She tried to set her expression straight as she looked up at him. "Don't pretend that you haven't had that hard-on for the best part of the evening."

"I don't mess about," he replied, pressing his cock against the inside of her thigh. "Could have come in me kecks at any bloody moment. You don't know 'ow close I was to laying you out over that bar, givin' you a right good seein' to."

Her insides fluttered at the mere thought – she'd never considered herself to be any kind of exhibitionist, but he brought fantasies she never knew she had right up to the surface.

He twisted his wrist slightly, curling his fingers. Alex let out a cry as she felt him graze the most sensitive, wonderful of spots within her.

"You've been waitin' for this," he went on, his free hand skimming along her side up to the underside of her breast, "wantin' it. Ever since I fucked those clever brains of yours out in the interview room. You can't get enough of me, Bols." He gave a short, throaty chuckle. "The fact that you're soaked through says that much."

She could do little else at that precise moment other than writhe and moan in agreement, her hips arching upwards from the cushion to meet the movements of his hand. It was a terrible cliché, the worst she could think of, but she couldn't help the way her body was reacting, getting wetter by the second. If she could have found the words she would have pleaded with him not to stop, to keep on talking to her. God, she was so hot for him, so much that she felt as though she should have been aflame.

"Feels good, don't it. Me hand between your legs. Can only think of a couple of things that are better..."

She was gasping, whimpering at his words as well as his touch. He took his other hand from her body, bringing it down his own and taking his cock into his palm, stifling a groan as he started to work himself at the same time as he pleasured her.

"Never had a bird as horny for me as you are. And it feels fuckin' fantastic..."

She cast her eyes to where his hand moved up and down, gripping tight onto himself, seeing his own expression shift as the exquisite sensations started to capture him too.

"Because it's you..."

Her head dug against the arm of the sofa, the warmth steadily building in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh Jesus, Gene," she cried, watching him, losing herself. "Don't stop..."

"Never want to stop touchin' yer," he carried on, half at her command, "so bloody gorgeous."

The rush came before she could properly prepare for it, a flood of moisture coating his fingers and running down her thighs.

"Bleedin' hell, Bolly," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her lips tenderly.

"Well, I can't help myself," she responded, getting her breath back and claiming some of his own as supplement. "You said it yourself."

He brought her with him as he sat himself upon the edge of the sofa, staring into her eyes.

"Christ, I want to do everything with you."

She smiled hazily, still feeling quite unsteady as her feet grounded themselves on the floor. "I would have thought we were pretty close."

He resumed stroking himself while his eyes remained pinned to hers, this time using the hand that had been buried in her moments previously. Her breath caught in her throat, her still sensitised core tingling at what she was witnessing.

"Gene," she uttered his name heavily, grazing her lips against his sideburn, "I'm happy to repay the favour."

He shook his head, his expression contorting as he guided his thumb over the tip.

"Got other plans for you," he managed to say, his hand working up and down, up and down, before he removed it and his cock sprang free.

He moved one palm to caress the arse cheek that had lifted off the sofa as she balanced on her side, his voice lowering to almost a whisper.

"Sit on me, Alex."

Her eyes widened with utter lust, the sensations that danced in her stomach whirling into a frenzy.

She was on her feet only for long enough to shift herself into position, gazing down at where he sat and feeling that she could implode into stardust at any moment. He placed his hands upon her waist, guiding her down, and they both let out a groan of satisfaction as she sunk onto him. The press of skin against skin sent spirals of desire through her, her arms looping about his shoulders, his hands splayed at her sides and her calves stroking against his legs. Everything about it was achingly intimate, she adored feeling so close to him.

"Never felt this good," he muttered as she ground down against him, sending him deeper. "Alex...love this."

His head lowered to suck her breasts, the warmth of his mouth feeling unbelievably good as it closed around one of her nipples, teasing and licking. She was lost in ecstasy, in everything he was doing to her, and yet her heart remained yearning, having heard the particular word leave his lips and putting it in a different context in her mind.

Her hands crossed themselves at the back of his head, her hips working steadily to match his upward thrusts.

"Tell me how much you want me," he said, hands moving from cupping her arse to coast along her spine.

"So much," she answered. She leaned into him, breasts crushing against his chest, a sheen of sweat covering them both. Their foreheads were touching, they were so close to one another that they could breath each other in. "Oh god, Gene...I need..."

"Tell me."

The rasp of his voice became a part of her; she clung at him tighter, pressing her hips down, almost crying tears at the sensations charging through her and meeting in the centre of her chest.

She felt her walls began to contract, but he began to pull back before she could hold him completely.

"Please," she uttered, holding onto him as he moved away.

She was so close to the edge, enough to merely touch than reach into oblivion.

"Bed, now," he replied, roughness edging his tone though his hands and the rest of his demeanour were nothing but gentle as he eased her off him. "Want to do this properly."

If she hadn't already come once she would have had no problem in slapping him. He hadn't had his own release as yet; she felt easier towards him, certain that he must have quite the finale in mind to deny both of them their gratification.

She lay on the bed, not taking her eyes off him for a second and feeling her stomach tighten in anticipation. He placed his mouth over her aching centre, kissing her there twice and tickling his tongue against her clit, enough to bring her back to the edge and make her curse aloud. Getting to his feet he raised both of her hands above her head again, pinning her in place with his knees too. His other hand swept down her body, fondling her breasts, caressing the flat of her stomach.

"Could touch you all day and night..."

She moaned softly, gasping as his fingers dipped back into her, widening her thighs to give him better access.

"Just 'ave to tell me if you want me to stop..."

She shook her head against the pillow. "No, don't. I never want you to stop."

He rubbed her hard clit in circles, leaving her already panting for breath before he slid back inside her. It felt more incredible than she could ever describe. She raised her legs at his slow thrusts, surprised but delighted as he kept whispering to her, telling her about everything he wanted to do to her once this encounter was over. Believing in the future. He picked up the pace and she could feel her body surge quickly, having been so close before.

"Alex," one of his hands reaching up to thread with hers, the other touching her just above where they were joined, "need you to come first...can't 'ang on much longer."

"Keep talking," she pleaded with him, feeling herself nearing the end but needing that little push to get there, "keep touching...yes, oh god, Gene..."

In the seconds before the heady rush of climax claimed her, she knew precisely what she wanted to tell him.

 _Gene...I love you._

Instead she could only cry aloud as her second orgasm ripped through her, holding onto him as she urged him on towards his own end. His thrusting caused aftershocks to tingle and shiver at her nerve endings; it wasn't long before he followed her into euphoria, groaning into her shoulder. She stroked her hand down his back, welcoming the weight of his body covering hers. It had felt wonderful to have him let go completely, emptying inside of her, and she craved to keep him close with each moment that passed.

 _Who knows how long we'll have, after all._

After a few moments he lifted himself, pulling out of her. He kissed her lips, bringing her onto her side to keep their bodies as mirror images.

"August," he murmured, nuzzling his mouth against the crook of her neck and shoulder.

"What?" she replied, her hand against his side as he pulled his head back to look into her eyes, which were still utterly glazed over.

"August 5th. That's me birthday," he affirmed, looking ever so slightly shy in a split second.

She smiled, sensing that she was one of very few in on the secret.

"And now I am expectin' one hell of a present from you, Bols."

* * *

In the dark it always took that bit longer to be certain of where she was. There had been so many nights where she had sworn that she had seen something from the corner of a half-open eye or heard soft footsteps from another room, and her heart had jumped up in hope only to come crashing back down seconds later. She blinked in the shadows, turning over onto her less-favoured side for sleeping. There was rain pattering against the window from outside, and Gene trying fervently not to make too much noise in the bathroom.

Alex smiled, snugging against the pillow. She found that she wasn't disappointed or heartbroken this time around; she felt relaxed, in the right place somehow.

She turned back to her usual side, feeling the mattress sink as Gene clambered back in. He leaned over, placing a kiss inbetween her shoulder blades, and she made a little murmur, alerting him to the fact that she was awake.

"Half three," he informed her before she could even think to ask what time it was. "It's pissin' down out there."

An arm slung lazily but seemingly purposefully about her waist.

"Go back to sleep, Bols."

"Hmmm," she replied, shifting so that she could see him properly. The sight of him, all rumpled with sleep, caused warmth to cascade throughout her body. "I love hearing the sound of rain while I'm lying in bed. It's like I'm in a cocoon, safe, and the world is a million miles away."

She watched him close his eyes as he lay on his back. "Very nice. If you're quite 'appy there then I'll get some more kip, if you don't mind."

Her hand crept from beneath the covers, caressing the portion of his chest that was exposed to her.

"It's too loud for me to sleep." She leant her elbow against the pillow, her head lowering enough to be able to kiss him. "Let's talk for a bit."

Reliably, he huffed at her suggestion. "Christ on a bike, you never give it a rest, do yer? Surprised you're not at it in your bleedin' sleep."

After a few moments of her staring at him he opened his eyes again. Even though the room was too dark for her to make out their ever-shifting shade, she was still struck by the intensity that lay within them.

"What is there to talk about at this hour? If you think I'm gunna harp on with you about the rain like a bloody hippy then you are very much mistaken."

She suppressed a giggle. "I don't expect you to do that. I don't know, we could just talk about...each other." Her palm moved upwards, resting to the left side. "Get to know one another a little bit better."

"I know all that's worth knowin' about you, Bolly. Same goes for you with me."

"You don't need to be afraid," she uttered softly, watching his head turn towards her on the pillow. "It's just me, I'm not going to air your deepest secrets in front of everyone."

He huffed again. "I should bloody well 'ope not, else I'll stamp your arse so hard you won't be able to sit down until next Christmas."

She laughed, sitting up and stroking a finger across her breast, skimming over the nipple that had become half-hard with the chill of the night air.

"Cross my heart."

He lifted an arm from where he lay, cupping the same breast in his palm. She couldn't stop herself from shivering at his touch as his fingers closed around the swell tenderly, issuing the lightest of squeezes.

"Alright," he acquiesced, with not as much reluctance as she had expected. "You go first, because I'm buggered if I know what to say."

She lay back down next to him, a thousand questions running round in her head. One particular one kept coming to the forefront.

"What was your wife like?"

"Flamin' 'eck," he exclaimed, "if this is your idea of pillow talk, then I've gotta say it's doin' nothin' for me."

"I'm intrigued about the woman who managed to tame the Manc Lion." Her hand moved to tangle into his mane of hair. "I don't need to know everything, just build up a bit of a picture."

She watched his disgruntled pout fade as the seconds passed.

"Well, she 'ad a mouth on 'er. A bit like someone else."

"You have a type, then," she laughed.

He frowned, taking her hand from his scalp and laying it on the duvet cover instead, covering it with his own.

"Looked like Diana Dors in 'er heyday, at the start. If she was in a certain light and you squinted a bit, from a distance. Wasn't as leggy as she was though."

Alex smiled, picturing the former Mrs Hunt in her mind's eye. It wasn't a great surprise that he would have gone for the buxom blonde, a fair few inches shorter than she was. Easier to bring out his protective instincts.

"She was nice. A good Northern lass, big into family. Never meant to do any 'arm."

He looked off into the distance with a weary expression upon his face, and she feared she had touched nerves that were still raw.

"You must have loved her," she ventured, a little hesitantly. "Enough that you wanted to marry her."

"I dunno," he began, "you did things a certain way, it was what was expected of you. I was risin' up the ranks, gettin' hitched was the next thing on the list. She was pleased enough, bein' a copper's wife was a good thing to gab about. Not sure that she saw it that way in the end, though."

She looked at him pensively. She didn't know anything about how his marriage had disintegrated and it didn't feel right to pry. From what Ray had said here and there, relocating to London had been a completely new start for Gene, both his DI and his wife left behind in quite different circumstances.

"I got around, Alex. Another thing that's expected from a copper. Late nights, cases away from home." A sigh escaped him, turning his gaze away from her. "I'm no angel and I'm not proud of it, but it 'appened. They were only one-nighters. Sometimes I didn't even stick around to see the sun come up the next day."

"And she found out."

"Oh, she always knew. Couldn't get anythin' past 'er. It wasn't right, but it became this thing we just lived with." The frown-lines marked his face. "But what she did was different, Alex. She'd been carryin' on with 'im for months. I'm not excusin' meself of what I did, I hold me 'ands up. Daft bastard, aren't I? How many years a copper, and I couldn't see what was in front of me eyes."

And she wasn't much of one either, not expecting him to be hurting so deeply. Other than the far-off look in his eyes, what she could make out of his expression was stoic, holding his shield of armour firmly in place. Her hand came from beneath his own, stroking his skin gently.

He turned his head, staring back at her, shaking the past away like dust.

"What's your type, then?" he questioned her steadily. "Aside from being hung like a horse."

She let out a burst of incredulous laughter. "I can't say that's been a common trait."

A proud smirk crossed his lips. "Exception to the rule, then? Careful, Bolly, you might get used to me standard. Wouldn't want you to end up disappointed."

She smiled at him, finding herself lost for a clever comeback.

"I'm not even gunna guess at your magic number. I value me knackers too much."

"It really isn't that many," she answered, pondering her woeful excuse for a love-life back in the real world. "Pete was my first, and I was with him for years. Then there were a few dates, years between them. But nothing was special enough to stick. And it would have to be, you know."

She supposed anyone would say that she was unreasonably critical when it came to men, casting them off for the smallest and most insignificant of reasons. Yet most of the time it wasn't about her; she came as a package, and if they weren't good enough for Molly then it wasn't worth bothering at all.

"What 'appened with him? Yer husband." After some warming up, he seemed to be hitting his stride.

"We got married too young. I'm not sure his parents were best pleased, although they were always good to me. And I liked them. Much more than I really liked him, actually." She smiled, feeling a little wistful. "Some people make it work as childhood sweethearts, but it was always on the cards that Pete and I would fizzle out. I wanted a career of my own, and he wanted someone to stay at home and say yes to him all the time." She laughed bitterly. "I suppose he got that, when he was screwing around and lying about it to my face."

"His brain must 'ave fallen out of his 'ead while 'e was shaggin' about. If 'e even 'ad one to begin with."

"When I fell pregnant I thought, this is it; he's going to shape up and really change. And he was excited about being a dad. The novelty soon wore off when reality kicked in though, all the dirty nappies and sleepless nights." It was hard to ever completely package up the past, and the memories still stung at her. "He walked out on us when Molly was six months old, and aside from the divorce, that was the last I'd ever seen of him."

She was lost in thought, pondering how everything had disintegrated around her. She'd done the best she could, building a life for her daughter and herself from the ashes. If she never made it back again – she hadn't given up hope yet – then she prayed that it would have been enough.

"What a shitbag," was Gene's reply. "If I ever come across 'im, he'd better 'ave a good motor or else a pair of trainers."

"Oh, he had a terrible old banger all the time we were together. And he was hardly an athlete."

"He's knackered, then."

Alex smiled, thinking that she shouldn't imagine Pete being knocked around by Gene but rather enjoying conjuring up the mental image. He always did manage to get away scot-free; if karma did exist then surely it was long overdue to catch up with her ex.

"That's real love, though," she mused, the ache in her heart rearing up again. "When your baby is placed in your arms for the first time. I never thought I could love another person so much, so wholly and completely."

If she closed her eyes she was taken back – or rather _forward_ in time, smelling Molly's newborn scent and her warm weight cradled against her chest.

"Did you never think about having children?"

God, she hoped she hadn't crossed some sort of line. The question had just slipped out, unthinkingly.

"Well, it wasn't for lack of tryin'." His fingers brushed against her elbow absent-mindedly. "Just never 'appened. The wife's family were Catholics, and they put it down to God's plan, some bloody mumbo-jumbo. We never really spoke about it, there wasn't much point."

She could only imagine that it couldn't have been easy, especially not on Mrs Hunt.

"Probably a blessin' in disguise, to borrow their terminology," he added. "For all I know I could 'ave taken after me old man. I don't mind bein' shit at some things, but that isn't somethin' I could live with."

She placed a hand against his forearm. "I think you would have made a wonderful father, Gene. I know the team are a different thing altogether, but if you're anything like you are with them, you'd be brilliant."

He smiled in recognition and gratitude. "Not too late y'know, Bols. Are you offerin' yer oven?"

"Let's not go down that road."

If she hadn't been taking the pill like clockwork then she would have had no hope, given all of the sex they'd been having.

"I s'pose that's why you kept 'is name then. For yer little girl's sake."

"Yes," she replied. "That, and I've always been DI Drake. It'd be hard to answer to anything else now. Other than DI Bolly Knickers, of course."

He chuckled along with her. "What name were yer born with, if you don't mind me askin'? I bet it's some bleedin' tongue-twister I can't even pronounce."

It wasn't a question she had been expecting from him. Her mind scrambled for something, though it had gone blank surprisingly fast. It was far too risky to tell the truth, though not too much of a stretch to imagine that there could have been more than one orphaned Alex Price in existence.

In the end she said the first thing that appeared before she could have seen to be taking too long about it.

"Brown," she said, with an added air of confidence, hoping that she wasn't hopelessly see-through. "Plain old Alexandra Brown."

"Can't say there's anythin' plain about you, Bols." A throaty chuckle rose up from him. "I was a Brown once. Not that you need to know about that, love."

"Oh, don't I?" she teased, her curiosity piqued. "Maybe I'll get it out of you one day."

His eyebrows raised, unconvinced. "Wasn't a patch on you, so yer needn't worry."

She turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Their hands now rested side by side out of the covers.

"So, when were you first attracted to me?"

He scoffed. " _Attracted to_ , or wantin' to shag you senseless?"

"It equates to the same thing," she replied, though she knew deep down that it didn't.

"Hmmm," he strung out his reply, on purpose if she didn't know better, "it'd 'ave to be when you came struttin' into Luigi's that first night, actin' like you owned the place. Leather looks good on you, Bolly, regardless of a gun to go with it. Not that I minded that prossie's get-up either."

"I suppose that's just about acceptable," she replied, turning her head to scold him with her gaze.

"Honestly, right there and then, I made my mind up. That I 'ad to have yer."

If there were both in 2008 she wouldn't have felt a thrill run through her at such uncouth phrasing. At least, she didn't expect that she would.

His gaze bore into her, putting her under further scrutiny. "Except I never thought I actually would 'ave the pleasure. Not with someone like yerself. Didn't think I'd advocate steerin' clear of the booze either, but it 'ad one up side, anyway!"

She smiled at him, hardly remembering what it was like beforehand, all of that repressed longing shut away inside of her.

"Your turn then, Bollykecks. When did you get the 'ots for the Gene-Genie?" His eyes glimmered at her, even in the darkness. "Though I don't reckon I need to ask. You did fall at me feet when you first clapped eyes on me, after all. I'd say that's substantial evidence right there."

"Oh, it took a little while," she teased at him, trailing a finger at his jawline. "I'd say it was when I knew about the size of your concealed weapon."

He chortled, letting his own hand slide back underneath the covers. "Had a hell of a time concealin' it!"

She giggled along with him, never having laughed in bed with anyone before Gene – at least not for the right reasons.

"Edgehampton," she said in seriousness, when she recovered, staring at him sincerely.

"Stuck in that bleedin' vault?" he exclaimed. "Like your blokes hot, sweaty and driven to the edge of sanity, then?"

If she was being absolutely honest with herself she'd fancied him before that point, but all of her principles had been fighting against her, making her feel grubby for having an attraction to such a neanderthal of a man, out of touch if not entirely out of time in this realm.

"I was petrified. Deep down, I wasn't sure that we'd make it out alive. But you made the difference." A smile crossed her face as she recalled the shift in the tides, the point of her realisation that there was more to Gene Hunt than met the eye. "You made me feel safe."

"And that does it for yer?" he shot back. "Bloody 'ell, next you'll be sayin' you want to do it out in the middle of a flamin' rainstorm."

"A woman likes to have someone to depend upon," she emphasised. "If I was ever stuck in that vault again, I hope that it'd be with you, Gene."

"Reckon I'll pass on that one, as sexy as you are."

"The odds would be very small."

"Still, I'm not taking me chances. You might try and get me there on purpose, now." After a few moments of silence he lifted himself onto his elbow, looming over her. "You didn't really think you were goin' to cop it, did yer?"

"For a little while," she answered honestly. As scared as she was, thinking of the possibility of losing her life, she had been reassured by snuggling close to Gene's chest, leaning against the solid if sweaty bulk of him. "Didn't you?"

"Nah," he replied, a little too quickly for her to believe, and then he re-evaluated. "A bit. But not for long."

The corners of her mouth moved into a small smirk. "Of course not."

She felt his palm moving to cradle her hip-bone. "I'd never let anythin' happen to you, Alex. Not for as long as I could 'elp it."

Her heart fluttered within her chest. _Why had she been so foolish, letting herself fall for him?_ Now she realised it had been inevitable, the longer they had gone on.

"Even if you're bloody hell-bent on gettin' yerself as close to the edge as possible."

"You do know that Luigi probably knows everything we've been up to?" she remarked, quickly shifting the subject.

"If 'e does then it's down to you, Shouty Knickers."

She could feel her cheeks glowing red as he looked down at her, as smug as he could be. "I keep forgetting that he's just downstairs. I don't know how I can look him in the face."

"Well I can, quite easily," Gene replied, all but puffing his chest. "I'm not going to 'ave any trouble buying a bloody big round off 'im just for you and me when this month is over. Two of everythin' he's got behind that bar."

Alex rolled onto her side, moving herself closer to him and letting her hand wander down. "I don't know. It suits you, staying off the booze." She gave his stomach a light tap. "You've certainly toned up since the first time."

"You cheeky bloody mare," he said, offended. "I've never 'ad any complaints before. The more of the Gene-Genie there is, the better."

She let out a chuckle. "I'm joking, you silly man." Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at him. "Women also like something to hold onto, you know."

The duvet floated over her into the air as he moved swiftly, clutching and raising one of her hands higher and pinning her in place against the mattress.

"I'll give you somethin' to hold onto, alright."

She couldn't giggle for long before his lips crashed down upon hers, her leg lifting to hook over his hip.

Talking seemed to work as an aphrodisiac for both of them, after all.

* * *

 **A/N: I know, astrology is a load of bollocks (as I'm certain Gene would put it) but just read up on Aries women and Leo men - it's Galex to a tee, mainly. I couldn't resist making Gene an actual lion.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Penultimate chapter, and longest one to date. There's a bit of everything in here, I do hope you enjoy.**

 **As ever, thanks for the reads and the lovely comments - I love reading them and appreciate them muchly.**

* * *

Chapter 9

The calendar hanging on the wall had meant so much to her when she got here. Just a piece of glossy paper but it was vital in making meaning, even if she hadn't been able to change anything. Counting down – to the inevitable, the unstoppable – had centred her, stopped her from slipping out of time completely.

She'd thrown it away before 1981 was out. On October 11th it seemed ineffectual, painfully reminding her of her most recent failure and her long-term loss. She bought another to chart 1982, anyway. Something might have occurred to her on some random day, a date apparently less significant arising out of her blurred, broken childhood memory.

Moving closer to where it hung in the same spot, she touched today's square. February 26.

She hadn't crossed off the days in the same way she had with the old calendar. Instead of large red marks, signalling another day done here – minutes or even seconds passed in 2008 – she had drawn a little wine glass and smiley face in the right-hand corner for the 28th square. At the beginning of the month she'd obviously been feeling flippant about it all.

Closing her eyes she tried to recall, somewhat desperate. Had anything important happened in the final days of February 1982? Something she had missed, a moment she hadn't even been fully aware of at the time. Racking her brain it was pointless, but she hoped to God that there was something.

There was little else she wished for than to leave before the month was out, wake up drowsy and uncertain in a hospital bed, hooked up to all kinds of bleeping monitors telling her exactly where she was.

 _I don't think I can bear it otherwise._

In the last week she had gone back to taking a stance in front of the bathroom mirror, the tape recorder held in hand, fingers poised over the buttons. Endeavouring to deconstruct the tangled web of her emotions the best way she knew how. Each time she didn't get very far, stumbling over strings of words and half-formed sentences – the thoughts not having taken proper shape in her mind – before she pressed down hard upon the 'stop' button.

It would have been easier when he was still a second-hand construct passed along to her, two-dimensional even though he seemed otherwise. She couldn't do it now, couldn't reduce him in such a clinical manner. She imagined him coming across the tapes, ransacking the flat after she had gone, and the image of him sitting there, his expression shifting as he listened to her ramblings, the mask falling when he was left on his own, caused her heart to constrict painfully.

She couldn't tear his world into pieces, especially not when she wouldn't be there to witness the damage she had made.

She remembered being on the other side, playing back the tapes at gone one or two in the morning, Molly sound asleep in the next room. The voice from the speakers halting in pauses, showcasing a level of attachment that seemed impossible. Listening, rewinding until she was lulled to sleep, letting the vivid descriptions enter her own dreams. It was then that she stopped considering Sam Tyler as a case exhibit and instead thought of him as a person. Someone damaged, too affected by the trauma he had experienced. Depression manifested from childhood abandonment, certainly. Yet the cracking of his voice revealed a greater loss, one wrought far more recently.

It had seeped into the synapses of her brain, the desperation and sadness in his tone.

"I think I always knew...something was missing. That I was looking for some kind of deeper purpose. But it wasn't until I came back – I mean, woke up, that I realised. How empty everything was. I was existing, just about breathing...it was all so bloody dull and relentless, no substance. I was going on day from day, blending into the background, getting absorbed...and now I'm back here, all the colour has gone again. There's nothing. Absolutely nothing."

It wasn't the same for her. She had the greatest reason there was to live, to fight. She hated that in moments that were becoming less fleeting that she wished she could have been in the same position as Sam had been. A much easier escape route.

"It was different. Excting, exhilarating. I felt the blood rushing in my veins, running to my head. I actually...felt. I was never numb, never bored out of my brain. I mean, isn't that it? What life is. The feeling that it means something, that you're in the thick of it. Your heart beating, pounding against your chest. I know, it sounds insane. Maybe I am. But I felt it, and because I felt it, it was real. Much more than it is here."

He spoke for hours, went into so much detail about all of them. Gene, Ray, Chris. No wonder she felt like she knew them inside out before she'd encountered them for herself. There was one person that remained missing, though. She hadn't configured any mental picture of her, because he refused to talk when her name was mentioned. Alex recalled the hitch of breath when he had been asked.

 _Tell me about Annie Cartwright._

That agonised hitch of breath - like the very essence of life was leaving the body - followed by a long stretch of silence.

 _Sam?_

"Don't...I won't...it's not fair to her. I can't...I just won't let you do it to her, alright? Don't ask me. Don't say her name again."

She realised now. She understood, properly. Sam had been in love with Annie. He sought to protect her memory, keep her safe from deconstruction in a world where such hopes and dreams mattered no more than to explain theories and analyse psychological conditions. Annie was too precious, mattered too much to be shattered into pieces for the sake of medical progression – and to be the subject of condemnation, from too many people who couldn't possibly understand.

Herself included, until now.

In this very moment she resolved to do the same. When she was in a similar blank room, being questioned upon her fragile state, she wouldn't give anything up.

When they asked her, one after the other, to tell them about Gene Hunt, not even the briefest word would leave her lips.

Her finger ran over the left side of her chest.

 _Cross my heart._

She hoped that she didn't die.

With her hand pressed over the page, she leant her forehead against the wall, breathing in deeply. Soon enough, a matter of hours, there would be a clean slate. A chance to start again. One hand, wearing a leather glove, seeking to pull her backwards. No matter how much she wanted to surrender she knew that she had to resist, push forward, even if it meant breaking both of their hearts.

Time was a healer, she told herself. And yet she yearned for it to stop. Some pain was always going to be inevitable, but she had made it a million times worse.

 _Oh Alex, what have you done?_

The future had never been clearer to her, filled with a darkness of her own complicity.

* * *

He knew that he was on his own, bar the presence of the Italian flittering about in the background. The others had sodded off long ago, to where he didn't have a clue or gave the slightest toss. Bolly had left even before them, saying that she had a headache and needed a lie down. He imagined her above the ceiling, laying collapsed on the sofa. Probably hadn't even bothered to take her boots off or get changed, no blanket draped over her to keep her body temperature at a decent level.

She wasn't his problem to worry about, he had to keep telling himself. Another long drag, filling himself with the equally intoxicating substance of nicotine and attempting to empty his brain of the thoughts of her with each cloud of smoke exhaled. Only a couple of more days and he could add the special ingredient of alcohol and lots of it. He intended to soak himself with beer, wine, whisky – anything and everything that could be brought forth to cleanse his palate. He'd forgotten what booze tasted like, how it acted as the sweet relief to a million worries, drenching away all the pain.

He was banking on the biggest bender known to man and beast, but somehow he knew that it wouldn't be enough. Nothing felt like it would ever be enough, not to get rid of the feelings that had invaded him, his immune system sufficiently weakened – ironically, probably by the ale – to fight off the foreign bodies.

Seeing as she was as stubborn as he was – likely even more so – there was no chance that she would be shifted either.

The music that was humming in the background came to a stop, and one by one the lights were going off, leaving the candles on the tables as the only source of illumination.

"Signor Hunt," Luigi's voice came out of the ether, "I lock up now. You have a 'ome to go to, yes?"

"Dunno if I can call it that."

Truth be told he'd rather be here all night, even if he didn't have the contents of the bar to amuse and distract him.

"It is not good to be on your own so much." The Italian paused for a moment, no doubt conducting some crafty plan. "Why don't you go and visit the lovely Signorina? She keeps strange hours too, and you know what they say about birds of a feather..."

He craned his head towards the bar and couldn't miss the grin spread upon Luigi's face. Bolly was right; he knew everything that was going on between them. He would have gone over and got the little fella by the collar of his shirt, ordered him not to breathe a word else he could expect to kiss goodbye to his meatballs - except he didn't have the energy to do so at this moment in time.

He gave a shake of his head before answering the question with words, flicking ash from the burning tip into the surprisingly clean tray.

"Because, my friend, that way madness lies."

Luigi began to chuckle and mumble something in Italian before moving back off into the distance, leaving him in peace.

There was no other way of describing it. The fact that he could barely eat – half a pizza left lying on the table, untouched – couldn't sleep unless she was close at his side. When they were working his mind felt far removed from doing what they could to catch the scumbags they needed to put away, his main concern being making sure that she was alright. He felt perpetually sick and light-headed; his balls ached something terrible whenever she crossed his mind – which was most minutes of the bleeding day – but the centre of his chest hurt even worse.

He wanted to tell her. Call her to his office and ask her what the bloody hell she thought she was playing at. Wait until it was just the two of them in the middle of a scene and spit it out, quick and to the point before a blagger had them on the run again, so that he didn't need to go into the finer details. Say it when they were in her flat, while she was rabbiting on about some theory he'd started to decipher owing to the fact that she repeated herself so often. Maybe that had been her plan all along; to alter his mind with amazing sex, fry his brain so much that she could get away with filling it up again with all of her crackpot thinking.

He'd been close to coming out with it the other night, when she'd made him talk about all manner of things that he would have rather kept locked up tight for the rest of his life, secrets that would never have made it out of his grave if he'd had his way. A fluttering of her eyelashes and a flash of her tits and he was putty in her hands, ready to give everything away. She was writhing about underneath him once things had moved on, he'd poured kisses down her neck and run his hands from her sides to her waist. As his mouth moved lower she was murmuring his name, pulling him by the nape of his neck before he could venture much further, hazy amber eyes looking up at him.

He could still hear her reedy voice, gasping between hungry kisses and heavy breaths.

"Gene...I..."

 _Oh, just come out with it, woman. I'll say it if you don't._

He didn't want to, urged her to do the talking instead, as she was so fond of. The thought of confirming it scared him witless.

 _I love you._

Her eyes staring, wide and almost unbelieving.

 _I bloody well love you. There, are you satisfied now?_

He hadn't said it, lay his mouth back upon her skin instead on safe ground, trailing his tongue down and down until her screeches of pleasure set his ears ringing.

It had to come out at some point, and he felt like it might be soon. Keeping it to himself was driving him around the bloody bend. Maybe he could get away with staying schtum. It's not like she expected it from him; she might even drop dead of the shock. Gene Hunt had a heart, just as fierce as the rest of him and just like the rest of him surrendered so easily to Alex Drake.

He hadn't done himself any favours in doing away with her overriding perceptions of him as a typical bloke, driven by what was in his kecks. Of course he'd been after her since that first night but even he realised that had been a physical urge, plain and simple. He should have told her that he really fancied her when he saw her aiming a gun so confidently, when she held herself together in interrogation after interrogation and proved that she could more than stand her ground with anyone – never mind square up to him without backing down.

He wanted her knowing that she was prepared to go the extra mile and the fact that she perpetually frightened the life out of him, getting herself knocked out and tied up. He'd never been as charged up with adrenaline as when he shot through the window of Chas Cale's place, determined that he wouldn't leave until Bolly was safe and sound. She'd been so cold to the touch, his heart had almost stopped as he begged with her to stay. Then of course she was back to normal within seconds of renewed consciousness – without any help from his lips against hers - blabbering about something that made no sense whatsoever.

Except he'd never quite recovered, and this past month was what had done him in for good.

 _Stupid sod. You should 'ave always kept her at arms' length, it would 'ave been best all round._

But nobody could turn back the bloody clock. He'd made his bed – with her in it – and now he was just going to have to live with the consequences. Be a man about it.

Up until a few weeks back, he had been confident that he was able to do just that.

Feeling restless and with not a drag left he stubbed out the used-up cigarillo into the ashtray, eyeing the exit from the restaurant that led to the staircase. He was stronger than that, he kept telling himself. She'd complain to him in the morning, whisper in his ear that she'd missed him. He had the image in his head of her, having pulled herself from the sofa to relocate to the bedroom, stripping herself off aside from her lacy knickers. God, for the days when he had only fantasised about what they looked like rather than having intimate knowledge.

She'd be lying on the bed with the covers thrown off, all legs and ample chest. Lord help him, he was getting hard at the mere thought. Her head shifting against the pillow, her hand trailing down her body until she dipped it beneath the waistband. She would bite down on her bottom lip near hard enough to draw blood, letting the tips of her fingers explore herself. Letting out a gasp of a moan, giving herself over to the heady sensation, he could hear her through the ceiling, both infinitely pleased and incredibly ruddy frustrated as his name left her lips.

" _Oh...Gene..."_

Before he could move – not that he'd have a whole load of success in doing so freely at this precise moment – he heard the unmistakable click of high heels, echoing off the walls.

She strode in, hands holding the white leather jacket tighter to her form. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Except that when she let go he could see the blue top underneath, as well as the figure-hugging jeans. Her hair was more tousled than of late as well, though not quite back to the perm she'd sported on her arrival.

 _Crafty mare, she'd done this on purpose._ The teasing smile that pulled the corners of her lips upwards told him so.

He remained mesmerised, leaning back in his chair as she made her way over to him. A million thoughts were running round in his head, not the least about the way he'd felt when he'd first seen in her in that get-up, the sheer lust that had overtaken his entire being and had stayed dormant in his system ever since.

But now he felt something far deeper, and the strangest thing was that he thought he preferred it.

"Ah, Signorina Drake!" Luigi's cheery tone rose up out of the distance. "You 'ave decided to keep Signor Hunt company. I can depend on you to turn the last of the lights out before you go?"

"Yes, Luigi," she replied, ignoring him for the moment. "You've had a long day, Signor Hunt and I can look after ourselves."

With the Italian happily dismissed she perched herself at the other seat at the small table, eyes glittering in the candlelight that was uncomfortably romantic.

"Bolly," he began, but was quickly cut off.

She extended a hand towards him, in a strange and overly formal gesture.

"I don't believe we've met," she uttered in a sultry voice, "though I've heard a lot about you, DCI Hunt."

Now he really didn't have a blinking clue what she was playing at.

She smiled again, leaning forward and caressing his palm with hers.

"Alexandra Brown," she said, "it's an honour to finally come face-to-face."

He swallowed hard, caught between confusion and being fairly certain that there was something very sexy lying in store. Her eyes were alight with mischief and something else besides as they looked into his, daring him to participate in the charade.

His thumb ran across the curve of her hand.

"Er...the pleasure's all mine, Alexandra."

He was sure he felt her shiver before their hands slipped apart, turning her head to expose the slope of her neck. He admired her from the short distance, tapping free another cigarillo and offering the packet towards her. Even now she shook her head, smiling towards him.

"Bad habit," he muttered, moistening the tip with his lips before lighting up.

"Sometimes they can be good for us," she replied, lengthening her words deliberately, leaning both arms on the table-top.

Christ, he was already stirring, the fly of his trousers exerting increasing pressure. He watched her fingers as they danced, sliding up to stroke her neck apparently absent-mindedly.

"What's a classy bird like you doin' in a shithole like this, then?"

Her glossy lips parted slowly, holding him completely entranced.

"I took a wrong turn in the road and ended up here." Her other hand played across the table, swirling invisible patterns with the tips of her fingers. "I don't expect that I'll be staying very long."

He shifted in his seat, desperate to try and find a bit of relief.

"Well, I'd better get a move on, 'adn't I?"

She smiled a little, leaning her head against the flat of her hand. "Oh, you won't have to try very hard. As it goes, I have something of a penchant for gruff Northern police officers."

"What a coincidence," he answered, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he stared into her eyes, determined not to stray anywhere further south - at least not for the next minute. "Bet you've never 'ad one like me though, sweetheart."

"No," she replied, "I don't expect I have."

Finding himself having quite enough stimulation as it was, he promptly stubbed out the cigarillo that was only half-finished.

"Why don't you fill me in on some of these things you've 'eard about me, and I can let you know if they're true or not."

It was all too easy to get carried along, and in the absence of having her stroke other parts of him then his ego would do just fine for now.

Her eyes lowered, a slow smile starting to stretch across those luscious lips.

"Well, I've heard that you know how to keep your team firmly in line, the least bit of insolence never tolerated."

"Spot on."

"And there's no one better at apprehending criminals, no matter how big or small."

"Right again."

He felt like he was having some kind of appraisal for a moment, rather than engaging in verbal foreplay, but there was no doubt that he'd never had anyone sexier telling him about all of his best professional traits.

She tossed her hair, inching closer over the table. "And – I could have got this wrong – but apparently you have a legendary status in the sack, DCI Hunt."

 _Now she was talkin'_. He suppressed the urge to groan heavily, instead keeping his expression as straight as possible.

"You're definitely not wrong there, love," he confirmed, feeling electric sparks travel up his spine as her smile widened. "Never 'ad any complaints as yet."

"You must have a lot of stamina, then."

"Bags of it."

"And know your way around."

"Definitely."

She lifted her gaze, fluttering those eyelashes towards him as she let the words linger on her lips.

"I hope that your weapon's fully loaded then, because it would be a shame for me to miss out."

And it was liable to go off if he didn't get hold of her soon.

As horny and raring for it as he was, he felt something missing; a kind of disconnection. He looked into her hazel eyes, finding what he didn't know he'd been searching for for the best part of his life.

"Knock it off, Bols," he said, seeing her stumble momentarily, "by all means, you can keep up that filthy talk, but I'd rather it was coming from you than from some character who 'appens to be yer double."

She relaxed, leaning back in her seat and staying strangely quiet. He wondered if she'd only been in it for the game and regretted opening his big mouth, as well as perhaps revealing too much about his true intentions.

"I'm retracing my steps," she uttered finally, the silence having been quite uncharacteristic but her doolally ways now well and truly back. "Every beginning has an end."

"Yeah, and every arse has a hole."

She wasn't the only one who could be philosophical, or otherwise state the bleeding obvious. His stomach catapulted downwards as he considered picking everything apart, faintly terrified of how far the threads would unravel.

 _What do you want from me, Alex?_

If it had been before, when he still had balls that weren't placed firmly in the palms of her hands, he would have asked.

As it was he didn't think he could take the answer, knowing in the depths of his heart what she'd tell him, looking ever-powerful and full of herself as she gave it.

 _Nothing, Gene._

"Maybe we should have done this from the start." She sighed, looking away from him and not appearing in the least bit confident, not as she had done only moments previously. "It was fun while it was lasted, but there could have been more."

Her voice began to trail off as she found his eyes again, and the situation shifted. He should tell her that it was all going to be alright, that whatever shit she had to deal with she didn't need to face it alone. That whatever she thought it wasn't the end, and that he wanted more as well.

He wanted her so badly that half the time it hurt to even think about it.

Instead he stood up, watching her as she raised her head to follow his movements.

"Cheer up, Bolly," he said, holding a hand out towards her. "The Gene-Genie'll put a smile back on yer face. Can't go to bed with a loaded weapon, can I?"

He gave her the chance to back out, tell him for certain if she'd changed her mind. If he had to take care of things himself then at least the evening had given him lots of material to work with.

"That'd be very dangerous," she replied with the beginnings of a smile, slipping her hand into his and getting on her feet.

He didn't refrain from smiling himself, touching his free hand briefly to her cheek, caressing it with the pad of his thumb.

"Best lock up first, else Luigi'll 'ave the right hump. You go upstairs and wait in the bedroom, love. I won't be long."

She stayed rooted to the spot, grasping onto his hand a little tighter.

"No," she said, "let me stay with you."

"Can't bear to be without me, eh?" His words were far lighter than his thoughts. "Expectin' you to be glued to me all night then, Bols."

As it happened, he didn't end up being too far from the mark.

* * *

Saturday afternoon.

If he had his way he would have knocked off early, taken the Quattro for a little spin in the absence of being able to sink a few. Meet Bolly back at the flat, hopefully to find her in next to nothing, waiting for him. There hadn't been any of that afternoon delight that he'd been hoping for as yet, and time was getting very short indeed.

He wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. If she wanted to get into the nitty-gritty then he'd leave it in her capable hands. Not his place to ask. _Gene Hunt does not do poncey romance, or girly wondering._

As it turned out he hadn't been able to do any of that. One little toerag by the name of Colin Maxwell had decided that Saturday afternoon was the perfect time to skulk around London after hiding his smackable face for months. _Fan-bloody-tastic._

Maxwell was a slippery git, second only to Lord Lucan when it came to doing disappearing acts. Small-time robbery had stepped up a gear, adding drug deals and a part in a couple of considerable heists on the side. When one of his most reliable snouts had been in touch, saying that Maxwell was back on the radar, he'd decided that enough was enough. Today was going to be the day that he'd finally nail the bastard – preferably to a post by his short and curlies.

He felt relaxed, all things considered. Last night with Bolly had been marvellous, once again, and they'd even had time to fit in another go before leaving for the office this morning. She'd perked up out of her funny mood and he'd been chuffed to keep his score-card checked, not missing the target once. Some others might not agree, but in his book there was a lot to be said for a good session to relieve the pressure before rolling up for a day's work.

Of course that was the only thing he was going to miss, and it's not like they weren't still going to be in one another's pockets, even if he would prefer to be elsewhere.

He took a last drag on his cigarette before tossing it out of the open window, keeping his gaze focused on the little row of shops - which quite coincidentally included a bank.

"Now you've finished, does that really need to be open?" Her plummy voice piped up from beside him, edged with annoyance. "I'm absolutely freezing here."

He turned to her in exasperation, finding her with both arms wrapped tight about herself.

"It is February in England, and you don't 'elp yourself with that get-up. I don't know, anyone would think you're bloody allergic to knitwear."

"I don't see you complaining most of the time."

He huffed, thinking that he didn't particularly want to picture her in some hideous cardigan that wouldn't be out of place in his mam's wardrobe.

"No, because you do enough for the both of us!"

She went back to sulking while he went back to the binoculars. Maybe this was a better way to spend the afternoon, after all.

"It's just so cold," she exclaimed after a few moments peace and quiet.

"Bleedin' hell, woman," he erupted, shrugging off his overcoat whilst staying seated. "Take this."

She looked at him with wide eyes, shoulders still juddering in her silky blouse.

"But won't you be cold?"

"Think you're forgettin' that I'm made of stern stuff, Bols." He passed the coat into her lap with care, thinking that she did look a little bit frozen. "Besides, it's a small price to pay to keep you 'appy."

A smile brightened her features. "Thank you."

"No need to mention it."

He tore his gaze away from her face, a little reluctantly, to get back to the task in hand.

"There's just one other little thing, though."

"Jesus, what now?"

Her smile was verging on the sickly-sweet. "Could you go and get me a cup of tea? I feel like my _bones_ are cold."

 _I could think of a couple of ways to warm yer up, and one bone in particular would be involved._

"I'll pay, and you can get one too."

"Well, thank you _very_ much."

She took the binoculars from his grasp, allowing him to get out of the car. Christ, it really was brass monkeys.

"If 'e turns up while I'm fetchin' for you, I swear you'll be in for it."

"Is that a promise?" Her eyes glowed as she looked up at him from the interior. "I'll keep a look-out, don't worry."

"You're still not drivin'," he said, dangling the car's keys in front of her eyes before depositing them safely in his trouser pocket. "Next time, bring yer thermals."

Luckily he didn't have to wait in a queue for too long – whoever was wasting their time in a tea-shop on a Saturday afternoon needed to get a hobby – and was back in the driving seat in a matter of minutes, handing over Bolly's tea into her cold hands and depositing the several small packets of sugar onto the dashboard with his own.

"You can 'ave a couple if you like."

"No, I'm fine, thanks." Her hands went around the polystyrene cup, eyes closing in contentment as she took a sip. "Mmmm, that's better."

He tipped one packet after the other into his own brew until it was sugary enough for his liking, swirling the contents around in the little cup, lost in contemplation.

"So, that roleplay lark is what gets you off, then?" he uttered aloud, thinking back to last night in Luigi's.

She shrugged, resting the cup in her lap and picking up the binoculars again. "Not especially."

He scoffed at her excuse of a denial. "Makes sense, really. All you posh birds who ponced about at drama clubs of a weekend." He paused for a moment, his imagination taking an interesting twist. "Oh, please tell me you 'ad yer fair share of pyjama parties."

"Believe what you like, Guv," she sighed faintly, "don't let the truth stand in the way of your fantasies."

There was no trouble of that, his mind running riot.

"Tell yer what I would like," he said, turning his head towards her. "A little game of cops and robbers. I'd be the copper, obviously."

She tutted, a touch exaggeratedly. "Oh, _obviously_. Can't expect you to be the submissive."

"It is my bloody fantasy," he shot back, rather wrapped up in the wonderful mental images of her running around the streets in a black and white number which barely covered her backside. "You can choose what you've nicked, I'm not really interested in that level of detail. So long as I get to cuff yer and tell yer what a naughty girl you've been."

Oh yeah, he wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of this sooner, a lot sooner. He could see the both of them in his mind's eye, her wriggling and writhing about as he pinned her to the bonnet of the Quattro, getting ready to conduct a full-body search.

He'd closed his eyes in order to properly immerse himself in the scene and things were just getting good when he felt her shove his arm hard.

"Now don't you try resistin' arrest, Bolly, else I'll just 'ave to punish you 'arder."

"It's Maxwell," the urgency in her voice brought him back to the present moment, "quick, before he gets away!"

He seized hold of the steering wheel, the engine revving as he reversed them down the side street they'd parked up in.

"Not ruddy likely! Hold on to yer knickers, Bols."

The wheels of the Quattro screeched through the streets of London, speeding by stunned pedestrians on the pavements, not stopping for a second's breath. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her clinging on, keeping her eyes firmly ahead as he bounded them around bends, determined that he wasn't going to let that slimebag get away again.

Maxwell ditched his own wheels at a fork in the road, and Gene promptly swerved across the centre, boxing the bastard in.

"Two pairs of legs are better than one, Bolly."

They got out of the car in perfect synchronisation, pausing before running as fast as their legs would take them. Without a definite path to take Maxwell was all over the shop, looking over his shoulder as he ran against the wind.

The tea sloshed uncomfortably in his stomach and the speed at which he had driven had knocked the wind out of his sails, so he left it up to Bolly to charge ahead while he took a couple of minutes to compose himself. It wasn't long before Maxwell tripped up over his own feet, Bolly apprehending him and pinning him to the ground as he fell face first.

 _Bloody hell, she gave him the horn something rotten._

There was no doubt about it, they made one hell of a team.

He wasn't going to bundle that scummy sod into the back of his precious Quattro, but Bolly had thought of everything and had radioed for a squad car to catch up to them. He took great pleasure in 'accidentally' catching Maxwell's jacket in the door of the car as it slammed shut, banging his gloved hand on the roof. _So long, dickhead._

"Those flimsy clothes of yours come in 'andy after all, Bolly," he remarked as they got back to the shelter of the Quattro. "Maxwell was fallin' over 'imself tryin' to cop an eyeful."

The adrenaline was coursing in his veins, heart pounding rhythmically in his chest. It never got tired, the thrill and the satisfaction that came from a job well done. The sensation was all the more powerful when he got to see it through with her by his side. Intoxicating, like being drunk on the finest whisky and with the solid-gold guarantee of no hangover.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side. Yer cuffed him so hard, e'll be smartin' for days."

He found himself thinking of them back in his office, a click of cold steel seizing one of his wrists and then the other. Submission was something he'd never expected to be fantasising about, and he wouldn't let her in on the secret, not for a while anyway. The image freaked him out, he needed to get used to it first.

It wasn't all he needed to get accustomed to.

Feeling the need to assert himself he brought his hand swiftly to the engine's ignition. Within seconds Bolly's fingers were covering over his, stopping him in his tracks.

"Take me somewhere, Gene," she uttered, her voice sounding even posher than usual and yet softer too. "I don't care where. Just drive."

He looked at her, trying to examine her expression and the far-away look in her eyes. It faded a little as she gazed back at him, a certain kind of confidence emerging from somewhere beneath. His hand hovered over the key for a moment, uncertain, not sure whether it was right.

"Please," she said in barely a whisper, grasping onto his wrist before letting her hand fall back into her lap, giving him free rein.

He wanted to huff in frustration, sick to bloody death of the hold she had over him, which was only getting stronger.

A twist and the engine roared to life again, the strong vibration apparent to them both as they continued to share a long look.

 _Eyes on the road_ , she'd usually command him.

"If yer thinking about Edgehampton, then you've got another bloody thing comin'," he warned her, his mouth twitching into a small smirk.

He put his foot to the floor, speeding through the city at a level that they both found acceptable. It was another good feeling, driving the car of his dreams with the woman who also occupied them right there with him, living every second.

Pulling up on a patch of deserted dockland the breath settled in his lungs. The skyline of London stretched out from beyond the dashboard, the sun having started to set already, the winter nights not quite over. As the horizon glowed up ahead the silence surrounding them was deafening but serene.

"Breathtaking," he heard her murmur, almost to herself.

"S'not bad," he said, downplaying the awe he was struck with at the view, all of the city's buildings and landmarks becoming shadows against the sky. "Not a patch on Salford last thing at night, once all the boozers are shut."

She turned her face towards him with a faint smile marking her lips that were still as red as they had been first thing this morning. He felt out of his depth, swimming against a tide that was threatening to swallow him up. His heart beat like a drum going double speed, palms sweating within the confines of his gloves.

 _Why are you doin' this to me, Bolly. Wish you'd bleedin' stop._

The urge he had to lean over, grab her face and kiss that smile away was rising greater and greater within him.

Her eyes went back to looking ahead, and he supposed he should have felt sharp relief.

"I wanted to ask you something else," she began, a little haltingly. "I didn't think of it the other night."

 _Here we go._

"Go on, then."

She paused for such a long time that he thought that whatever it was must have gone out of her head again.

"Did you always know," she eventually went on, "that this was what you wanted to do? How you wanted to live your life?"

He couldn't do anything other than tell her the unfiltered truth. It was like a compulsion, the power she wielded to make him do anything she asked of him.

"For as long as I can remember," he answered, feeling her eyes upon him again, a force-field in the confines of the car. "Thought it was a pipe-dream at first. My old man took great pleasure in tellin' me and me brother that we'd never amount to anythin'."

He'd turned out to be half right, the pain that he couldn't do anything to save Stu from himself still raw.

"I saw so much shit growin' up, Alex. So much potential goin' to pot, because of the way things were. If I could do somethin' to put a stop to some of it, then I was goin' to bloody well try. Get me lazy arse into gear and make a difference."

He paused, wondering how much it all amounted to in the grand scheme of things. Life was just as bad for the kinds of people he'd grown up alongside now, if not even worse.

Still, he wasn't fit for much else, so he was buggered if he was going to pack it all in now.

"Hopefully I've done me best."

Her eyes seemed bigger as he looked towards her, the fingers of her left hand swiping at her cheek.

"Nobody can ever take that away from you, Gene."

A swell of pride surged within his chest at the sincerity in her voice. If anyone else had said it he would have told them swiftly to piss off and stop licking his arse. She looked lost, even when it was just the two of them on the edge of the city, and he started to feel surer of that purpose he had suspected had become his ever since she arrived, almost thrown into his lap.

She broke their shared gaze momentarily, resting one of her hands upon the dashboard. He watched as she pressed firmer, like she was expecting it to dissolve and disappear in the next second.

"Tell me that this is all there is." There was an edge to her voice, as though she was commanding him. Her eyes searing through him.

Every little thing about this should have made him want to open the door, slam it behind him and run, even if his legs felt too heavy to carry him away.

"Yeah," he responded after a few seconds feeling awkward.

Her lips parted, her look intensifying to tell him that he needed to _say_ it.

"There's nothin' else," he confirmed, and watched her expression melt in front of him. A lump he didn't ask for started to gather in his throat. "You and me, Bols. Haven't I always said it? You'll be alright."

Whatever it was, the sadness that seemed to be rooted at the very centre of her being. He'd make it his mission in life to take it away, alongside ridding London of its population of thieving and murdering scumbags.

She leaned her body across towards him, her hand landing inside the lapel of his suit jacket. No getting away from the way his heart was thundering twenty to the dozen, she could feel it for herself.

"Gene," she uttered his name, eyes blinking.

"I know," he told her, placing a palm upon her thigh to steady himself. "I know, love. It's alright."

He could taste her even before their lips touched, the unsweetened tea and the almost fruity tang of her lipstick. She murmured into the kiss, sliding her hand up to his collar and pulling him closer. It was too awkward sitting how they were, bodies twisting and the car's mechanics getting in the way, but it didn't stop them from carrying on, desire and a sweet kind of desperation sweeping them up. He tugged on her bottom lip, swiping his tongue across when he suspected he might have been a touch too forceful, tilting her chin down and cupping her cheek with his gloved hand. Her eyes were glazed when they broke apart and he fought to regulate his breathing at the wondrous sight of her.

"That's the gearstick, by the way," he quipped, needing to break the tension, "although give it a few moments, sweetheart."

It wouldn't even take that long, given what had just gone on.

"I can't wait," she said, those mesmerising eyes flaring and shifting their colour. "I need you now."

 _Jesus Christ_. He'd dreamt of this very scenario he didn't know how many times, he felt like he needed to pinch himself to be reassured that it was real.

"Here?" he checked, just to be sure.

She nodded, biting down upon her bottom lip and undoing the bow that held her blouse at the neckline. He watched the fluid movements of her fingers, making a start on the buttons, hypnotised and getting hornier by the second. Thank God he had the sense to park somewhere with not a soul surrounding.

He'd started to fumble with his own shirt and tie, welcoming her close again as she offered swift, stinging kisses to his lips. She wriggled from the passenger seat into his lap, being careful with the positioning of her knees as she straddled him. Her blouse was completely undone and he could see the delight of the bustier that lay underneath, his mouth going dry and his eyes on stalks. She looked no less gorgeous than the first time he'd witnessed her strip down to it. It did help that she wasn't quite so sweaty this time, though. She let the blouse hang loose, inviting him to be the one to tear it from her shoulders.

"Fuck, Alex," he murmured, hands floating and fumbling down the curve of her back, "don't know where to start with this bleedin' thing."

"It's a tight squeeze," she answered, "I'll have to leave it on."

He couldn't complain that much, her elevated tits in his direct line of vision. He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her down against him as he shifted in the seat to move up a little. The outline of his hard cock jabbed at her through his trousers and hers, and she let out a breathy moan in response.

"Definitely not the gearstick this time," he remarked, mesmerised by the way her mouth had fallen open and her eyelids fluttered.

The satin that clothed her felt almost as hot to the touch as her skin as he moved his palms up and down over her. His mouth dropped to the tops of her breasts that escaped the bustier, dropping a generous amount of open-mouthed kisses over them. She whispered words of encouragement, clinging onto his shoulders and flexing her hips against him. The friction she was driving forward was sending electricity sparking in his veins and doing all kinds of things otherwise.

"Christ, Bols. You're gunna have to get up otherwise I'm gunna come in me kecks, and we'll both be disappointed."

She smirked, stealing another kiss before shifting back, as much as her arse against the dashboard would allow her.

"You'll have to open the door so I can get out of mine," she said.

He was treated to a face full of cleavage before she manoeuvred herself, and he opened the door to let her climb out momentarily, undoing his belt buckle and button.

"Put me coat round yourself," he said, flinging the heavy garment towards her. Even if the place was deserted and the sky had gone purple, he was keen that she could preserve some modesty.

Once she had wriggled out of her trousers, he stepped out to push the front seats forward and take care of his own.

"Ladies first," he uttered, standing back to allow her to climb into the back seat. Flaming hell, he really couldn't believe this was actually going to happen.

When she got herself comfortable she beckoned for him to follow her inside, his shirt open and trousers and boxers hastily thrown into the front.

"You're all legs, Bols," he rasped, lowering himself over her, "how the bloody hell is this goin' to work?"

"I didn't think you'd need educating," she retorted cheekily, gazing up at him where she was reclined across the seats. "We'll make it work. Where there's a will..."

"Oh, there's one of those, alright."

He thrust against the lace of her underwear, wrenching another gasp from her throat.

"Gene, please," she whined, hands scrambling over his back, almost clawing at him. "I can't wait much longer for you."

"Feeling's mutual, love."

His hands, still encased in leather which felt tighter than a second skin, spanned her hips, pulling her knickers down as she raised her legs to assist him. The space was filled almost entirely by their limbs, he needn't lean very far to be able to taste her. Instead he moved one of his hands to her centre, skimming two gloved fingers over her slippery folds. She hissed loudly at the touch, letting out an expletive followed by garbled nonsense.

"Don't you dare make a mess of the upholstery," he muttered as he continued to move his fingers and let the tip of one dip inside her, "you know bloody well that I'll make you clean it up."

"I won't be the one...oh god, Gene, honestly!"

He let out a short chuckle, deciding that he'd teased her – and himself – well enough. More of that another time, especially now that he knew the particular effect his gloves had upon her.

Her legs were still lifted to the ceiling and he gripped her around her knees as he thrust into her, going deep immediately.

"Oh, Gene!" she cried out, working to meet his movements frantically, even as her legs were held immobile. "God, you feel so good inside me...oh, yes..."

Her words began to trail off and she was reduced to whimpers and moans as he thrust harder into her, feeling her hand upon his hip-bone, fingers brushing him where they were joined. He gritted his teeth as he could start to feel the hot rush well up, his arse tightening and his legs going numb.

"I'm all yours, Alex," he said, his free hand cupping underneath a covered breast.

A sound escaped her – the same one that he knew by now preceded her oncoming climax – and he felt able to let go, losing himself in how amazing she felt, clenching tight around him. A few more sharp thrusts, the head of his cock hitting repeatedly against her most sensitive spot, and they were joined in oblivion. Edgehampton was miles away, still a fairly distant memory, but they had worked themselves into an almost comparable sweat.

He peppered kisses against her hairline, her closed eyes and the tip of her nose. Her hands pressed to his half-bared chest, claiming his mouth again while they remained intimately connected.

 _He was hers._ He should have pushed against the feeling, rejected it with everything he had, but in the amazing haze of the afterglow he was more than happy to surrender to it. She owned a part of him that seemed to have always been waiting for her to come along, and looking down at her beneath him, blissed out and utterly beautiful, he only hoped that he owned something within her too, though she was as far out of his league as was possible.

They tore themselves away from one another, tidied and dressed and resumed their previous places, before lust had controlled them. _Something other than lust, deeper than that, even if he hadn't wanted to consider it before._

They smiled at one another, the post-coital sensation still hanging heavy over both of them. She allowed him to roll the window down to let the cool evening air embrace them, the smoke from the cigarette he lit up escaping away on the breeze.

"Ruddy hell, Bolly," he muttered, smelling the scent of her upon his glove as he lifted the cigarette back to his lips, "dream come bloody true, that was."

"It was quite something," she replied, tucking her blouse back into the waistband of her trousers and adjusting the bow at her neck. "I would have said that you should have left the engine running but it felt just wonderful as it was."

He sniggered, flicking the remains of the ash out of the window. She really was a filthy little minx, and he was all the more enamoured with her for it.

"Never done the deed in the back of me car before," he pondered aloud, drawing a gasp of surprise from her.

"Really? I would have thought you'd shown lots of girls a good time on four wheels."

He smiled at the expression upon her face, stretching his arm to rest a hand upon her knee.

"Nobody's come up to the mark," he answered truthfully, "not until you, Alex."

As he took a final drag on the nearly worn-down cigarette, he was sure that nobody ever would again.

* * *

Sunday night.

Talk about saving the best for last.

The whole day from morning to noon through to evening had been spent in the bedroom, not always in the bed itself (some moments called for a bit of experimentation, as she put it). There was the occasional break for food, anything that didn't require a lot of time standing over the cooker and wouldn't make her mardy if he spilled it on the sheets.

Most of all, he feasted on her. Breakfast, dinner (far superior to any roast with all of the trimmings), tea and dessert. They'd gone for a bit of supper, and he was well up for a second course in a little while, not yet having had his fill.

He couldn't get enough of her, staring, touching, kissing; he was like a man possessed and condemned.

One thing that he noticed was that she looked even more beautiful scrubbed free of all the slap she wore on a daily basis while they were at work. Not that he didn't like her all dolled-up, it was just that she didn't _need_ it. Her eyes glimmered without any of that multi-coloured gunk to obscure them, her skin creamy and dusted with faint freckles on her nose and beneath her eyes. He thought they were especially gorgeous and convinced himself there were more to be found over the plains of her body, looking intently over all the places he roamed with his fingertips. She said she felt _scrutinised_ but he shrugged it off, telling her she could do the same to him when he finished his own exploration.

Even a few weeks ago he would have been terrified, but now he felt he had nothing to hide from her.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing her underwear back into place. He wasn't sure why, not when they'd be off again soon enough. Then again it was all part of the fun, uncovering her anew, pretending it was the first time all over again. He watched her point one of her perfect legs into the air, following the shapely thigh and then tapering all the way down to her ankle which he could have happily nibbled on for the rest of the night, if other parts of her didn't call his attention at the same time.

The noise in his mind grew louder, nagged at him in a way that frustrated him, but it wouldn't give over. _Not until you tell her._ She was saying something, he could see her lips moving but he couldn't hear a word. All he could make out was the droning inside his head, driving him bloody insane.

He'd been so insistent up until now, or perhaps it was just a case of being unprepared. He'd certainly never felt like this before or had this kind of unstoppable urge that seemed to take over his whole being and override any ounce of common sense he had. _Christ's sake, all the times that Tyler sounded like a right fairy sayin' the stuff he did and now I'm gunna come out with the same._

God help him.

"Gene?"

"Yeah?"

She shook her head, her lips quirking as she turned towards him.

"You look like you're in another world. Miles away."

He felt the pout that was emblazoned on his face, the one she could clearly see as she stared at him.

"Just thinkin'."

"Well, be careful," she retorted, a cheeky edge to her tone, "don't want you to wear that _amazing organ_ of yours out."

The innuendo passed him by while he stayed rooted in every sense of the word. He found himself trying to pinpoint those freckles at this distance and in the dim light of the room, just the one lamp illuminated.

"Go on, then." She shifted her body quickly, drawing both legs up so that she was sitting cross-legged facing him. "I can never give up the day job."

 _As if that wasn't part of the problem_. Well, he just had to get past that; it came with the package that was her.

"Fancy doin' this a bit longer?"

The words were thick in his throat, blood pounding against temples. Her eyes had gone darker – or maybe he was just seeing things.

She smiled, tilting her head to the side. "I can't say I'm not surprised. But it certainly wouldn't do our livers any harm to abstain for another month or so."

 _Fuckin' hell._ He really was going to have to spell it out, go exactly where he feared to tread.

He looked her straight, leaning closer out of instinct though he was still too far away.

"You and me," he affirmed. Shit, if there was ever a time where he needed a drink, it was now. He could feel himself shaking from the inside out. "Us. Doin' this. Doin' more."

He kept watching her as she drew her legs down to the floor, turned her body away from him. Silence stretched out past seconds; it wasn't the reaction he wanted, though he wasn't sure that it wasn't what he was expecting.

One thing was certain, it bloody freaked him out when it came to her.

"Cat got your tongue, Bols?"

She was on her feet now while he remained lying in bed, her arms bracing round herself like a shield.

"We had an agreement," she said finally, her gaze raising from the floor to meet his. "One month, that was it."

"Yeah, well, things change." He paused for a beat, letting the enormity of what he'd said sink in. "You're always goin' on about that, thought it's time I see what all the fuss is about."

He stared at her unswervingly, examining her for evidence to the contrary. Her body language was all wrong, he could see the excuses prickling on the surface of her skin.

"It's...it's not professional."

Of all the ones she could have chosen, that was without doubt the weakest.

"Since when 'ave I cared about that?" he scoffed. He couldn't take his eyes off her, the shifting expressions upon her downright gorgeous face. If he had more sense, he would have looked elsewhere. "We make a good team. Always thought it when it came to work, even if you are too much of a smart arse most of the time. And now I know the same goes for outside hours."

 _Even bloody better outside_. _She knows it too, she's just too much of a snob to admit it._

When she didn't move from the spot she stood in he clambered out from between the sheets, took her wrist with a soft grasp as he stood in front of her, completely bared in every sense.

"Bolly," he uttered, his fingers trailing up towards the creases of skin at her elbow, his gentle touch causing her to flinch. "Alex."

There was a long moment before she finally looked at him, hazel meeting blue, satin meeting steel. Except, after a few seconds, she was the one to harden – much to his surprise.

Her words were cold and monotone when she said them. Deep down he knew that she couldn't have meant them – _he hoped she didn't_ \- but it didn't stop from stinging.

"It was physical, Gene," she told him, her eyes steady as she kept them focused on his face. "I wanted to know what sex with you was like, and now I've satisfied my curiosity. I'm sure you have too."

He tried to ignore the empty feeling in his gut, as though somebody had sliced a hole clean through.

She moved away from touching distance and he let her go, frozen with shock before the anger kicked in. Something familiar, something he was used to. Safe territory. His eyes shot daggers at her as she sat where he had been previously, occupying his space.

"Oh, I get it. Bit of Northern rough, some bloody experiment for you. I'm good for shaggin', but nothin' more."

He was hurt enough that he felt a physical ache in his chest, but he'd never let it show. Not to her, the toffee-nosed bitch. After a few moments of heavy silence she started to mumble, something that sounded along the lines of _"you're not..."_ , but he blocked it out. It was too late to take back the things she'd said beforehand.

He picked the articles of clothing that had long been discarded from the floor, throwing them on in a fashion.

"It's half eleven," she croaked.

"Like that makes any difference," he barked, still somehow with his eyes fixed to her. _Glutton for ruddy punishment_. "I've no intention of bein' where I'm not wanted."

A last look, her face fallen and her eyes wide – _her own bloody fault, he'd given her the chance_ – then he was out of the door.

The perfect day came to the shittiest end and the best month of his life had crumbled quickly to dust, which seemed only too fitting.

* * *

He headed without thought for the sanctuary of the station, fumbling his way in the dark – not being bothered to switch any of the lights on – until he reached his office, swinging the door open and swiftly banging it shut, the rattle of the hinges nothing compared to the chaos that was going on in his head.

He'd convinced himself that she'd say yes to giving it a go, the pictures in his mind torturing him as they replayed over and over – her flinging her arms around him, pressing her nearly-bare body to his. His hands roaming over her until mere touch wasn't enough and he threw her onto the bed, watching her already come undone in bliss underneath him before he really had the chance to show her what she meant to him.

He wanted to blame her. He should have been calling her everything under the sun. _What kind of woman refuses the Gene-Genie?_ The anger burned within him, flames fanned by the hatred he felt. But hard as he tried, he couldn't find it within himself to hate her.

Instead he took it out on the most reliable source, the enemy he'd known the longest.

 _Stupid bastard. You absolutely bloody fuckwit._

His father's words slurred and spat into his face, the smell of booze reeking from him.

 _Everythin' that goes wrong is your fault. Never fuckin' wanted you anyway. Biggest mistake I've ever made._

He seized the key to the safe, swearing as he got to grips with the fiddly combination lock. The one remaining bottle of scotch he'd kept gleamed like precious gold in the near pitch-black. Pushing the spectre of his old man away, booting him to the floor like he'd done that one time when he was fourteen or thereabouts, he unscrewed the top and poured out a glass. It stood untouched until one minute after midnight – he eyed the clock cautiously, seeing this ridiculous challenge through to the bitter end – and then he downed it without so much as savouring one drop. He poured another measure but was asleep before he could touch it, head slumped against his desk, the scent of it lingering in his nostrils.

Mercifully, the day went quietly after he'd woken with a start, momentarily unaware of his surroundings – and everything that had gone on – until he saw the shadow of Viv against the closed blinds, moving about outside. He ran his hands over his face, stretched out his aching limbs and knocked back the untouched glass of scotch. _Time to get your arse into gear, and build this thing up again_.

It had been quiet for the most part, aside from the sounds of cheering and celebration that coaxed him out from behind his shuttered door. The news of Colin Maxwell's apprehension had made it round CID and Ray led them all in a chorus of _For He's A Jolly Good Fellow_.

"Not so bloody clever now. God, I'd loved to 'ave seen the smug smile wiped off that prick's face," DS Carling exclaimed. "The Guv always gets 'em in the end."

He looked over to Bolly's desk, finding her sitting with a sheepish expression, gaze averted and her hands knitted together.

 _Shows how much you know, Raymondo._

He was left with his own company for the rest of the afternoon, glad to bury himself in piles of paperwork for once. The blinds had been left drawn, which sent the clear signal that the Lion was not to be disturbed.

All but one paid attention to that sacred rule.

She'd knocked, but let herself in anyway when she had received no reply. He kept his eyes pinned to his desk, pretending to be engrossed in some pointless, boring nonsense. There was no bloody way he was going to give in, have her click her fingers and him roll over and beg like some bleeding dog with shit for brains.

"What's the matter with you?" He heard a sigh leave her lips, as she considered that she really hadn't needed to ask. "This is ridiculous. Whatever's happened, we still have to work together."

"Not necessarily," he barked out abruptly, shattering the silence he had enforced upon himself and finally looking up towards her, seeing her wearing black and white with just a flash of red hanging from her ears. "Think I'll put in a transfer request."

Her eyes went wide as she stared at him, mouth parting in shock.

"Where d'yer fancy? I've 'eard that Brighton's nice at this time of year. Or there's Plymouth."

She remained in silence, and he felt a sense of validation take over him.

Her head shook before she spoke again, her lips uttering wordless false starts.

"You can't be serious, Gene."

Oh, he bloody well could. There wasn't much doubt that it would sting like a bastard, and he didn't want to consider a replacement. Along with Tyler she was the best DI he'd ever had. If he was being truly honest she had the edge upon Sam in everything she'd done for him, not just on a professional level. That's why there was no other choice; he simply couldn't have her around when she'd made her feelings about their relationship outside of work quite clear.

"That's enough of that an' all," he said, keeping his voice hard. "I've been far too lenient with you. Should never 'ave let you get so familiar in the first place. It's Guv to you, while you're still 'ere. Better still, DCI Hunt. That understood?"

Her shell-shocked expression remained for a few moments – he thought he could make out the traces of tears springing in her eyes, but he was plainly fooling himself, as she soon burst into stifled laughter, bringing her hand up to hide the smirk upon her face.

"Unbelievable," she snapped, her gaze fixed with his, "all because you can't get past the fact that a woman is quite capable of fulfilling her needs without things getting unnecessarily complicated. Do us all a favour, _Guv_ , and grow up. It's hardly good for this station's reputation to have an overgrown child in charge."

"Not like you'll be 'ere much longer to care."

He watched her face transform into a serene smile. If he hadn't known she was so deranged, he would have thought it beautiful.

"That's right, I won't." She raised her eyes to the ceiling, ignoring where one of the panels looked like it was close to caving in, ripping a hole to expose the sky above. "At first I didn't think I had a choice. Nothing I did mattered. But going on blindly didn't make a difference, so that's when I had to act."

Some things never changed. When she sodded off then he could finally look forward to uninterrupted peace and quiet.

She stared at him across from his desk, hands folded against her chest.

"I'm glad that I know, at least," she uttered, her lips still curved. "You were a mistake. The biggest one I've ever made."

 _Biggest mistake I've ever made._ Her voice joined with the other that echoed in his head. _You little piece of shit. You'll never amount to anythin'..._

"He might be a bent bastard, but Mac was right about you," he shot back at her. "Should 'ave left your barely covered arse in the gutter. More bleedin' trouble than you're worth."

The rage continued to build within him, his own frustration for letting himself take his eyes off the ball, allowing himself to be strung along. Before she buggered off for good he wanted to touch her where it really hurt, ensure that she'd be left with an indelible reminder of him etched upon her soul. It was only payback, considering she'd left him with far worse.

"What was it you called me when you first turned up 'ere? An 'imaginary construct', or some bollocks. Well, there's no bloody doubt that you're several slices short of a loaf."

He stalked towards her, hands planted in his pockets as he leant forward, her perfume assaulting his senses.

"All this nonsense, made up to amuse yourself. It's bloody twisted, Alex. Should get the men in white coats on the blower to come and collect you."

She was looking into his eyes, not backing down from the fight.

Time to bring out the big guns.

"I don't think this daughter of yours is real. You don't phone her, you don't talk about her, there's no pictures of her in your flat. What sort of mother doesn't try and see her kid? Nah, I'm not 'aving it." He felt compelled to carry on, plunge the knife in deeper. "She's a figment of your imagination. She's the construct 'ere."

No sooner had he finished speaking did she slap him hard across the face, so hard that the force of it made him stumble back on the heels of his boots.

Her eyes flashed, then she was out of the door, leaving it wide open to the rest of CID. He slammed it shut again without meeting the eyes of any of them, slumping back down into the chair once he was left alone again, his cheek throbbing with pain. He suspected he'd pushed a bit too far but it had done the trick. The whole set-up was more than a little weird anyway, he'd always thought it, even if he was bullshitting her just then.

Well, it was done with now. _Back to walking the streets alone._

He thought about the empty desk fronted by her name plaque, the ghost of her lingering long after she'd gone.

 _I can do this without her. Never needed her before, dunno why it should be any different now._

As soon as the clock struck six she marched from the station, bypassing Shaz's concerned calls of her professional title and the warm glow of Luigi's to head straight up the stairs to her flat, a bottle in each hand. She'd indulge herself with the white first; if she started with the red then she'd be too pissed to appreciate it later.

The thought crossed her mind that all she wanted was to feel obliterated, so perhaps she should have skipped straight to something much stronger.

With two glasses already consumed she narrowed her eyes to the calendar pinned to the wall that still displayed the month just gone. The smiley face in the corner of the last square taunted her in her misery, and she scowled as she raised another half-full glass to it, the wine burning and bitter in her throat.

 _There was nothing left to be happy about, not here._

She scrabbled desperately around the corners of her mind, calling out her daughter's name, softly at first until her cries became increasingly frantic. No matter how hard she looked, Molly was nowhere to be found. The lines were blurred, the colours out of focus.

Spots of light crashed into her vision, and she managed to tear down the calendar, flinging it across the room, before she slumped down the wall to the floor, her ankle twisting as she fell awkwardly and the glass spilling its remaining contents upon the carpet as it rolled out of her hand.

 _Perhaps he's right. Perhaps I have gone mad. Eaten up completely by this world, with no way of escaping._

"Please," she cried out, her head craning upwards, looking at nobody or nothing in particular, "let me go home. I want to go home now. Please!"

Her fist banged against the floor and then the wall, searching for an invisible exit route as the tears streamed down her cheeks, Gene's face appearing as she closed her eyes, the cruelty of his words ringing in her ears.

His contempt was her only souvenir, and as much as it destroyed her she found herself clinging onto it, only sorry that she had to leave him behind believing a lie.

* * *

 **A/N: Agh, I hate angst, so I hate myself for writing that. Welp. (yes, I had to rework the scene from 2.8, but it's okay, this is a reworking anyway...)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Here we are: the last chapter! This fic has been such a fun, wonderful ride (*ahem* - excuse the pun) and I hope that the ending is satisfying. Again, this chapter is massively long, so you might want to settle in. And you might just recognise a couple of scenes from S2 that have been repurposed...**

* * *

Chapter 10

The sound of the alarm clock at her bedside reverberated around the room, intrusively loud and excessively commanding. It hadn't mattered a jot, made little impact than to irritate her senses further and amplify the pounding against her temples which had been going on for the best part of the night.

Loathe as she was to admit it, the suffocating headache wasn't the sole factor in preventing her from getting anything more than scraps of sleep.

Alex shuddered against the bed sheets, a cold sweat possessing her from head to toe. Perhaps she was coming down with something, and it wasn't just the effects of sinking two bottles of wine in quick succession but hours ago. She grasped the duvet cover in aching hands and pulled it up over her head, half closing her eyes. In all likelihood she would be able to hibernate here for the entirety of the day, shut out the world that existed beyond the four walls that were growing increasingly narrow.

Her plan would have worked if it wasn't for her constantly whirring mind, intent on conspiring against her at the turn of every corner. If only she could take some kind of pill to blot it blank, because clearly alcohol was ineffective – or maybe she just hadn't built her tolerance back up as yet. It had just been a week, after all.

The longest week of her life. With each moment that passed she was coming to accept it, as much as it shredded her heart. This _was_ her life now, for better or worse.

Except she couldn't fathom how it could possibly get any worse.

He hadn't been able to sustain the silent treatment for longer than a couple of days, which had been something at least, and soon after the talk of Brighton and Plymouth was dropped too, as they both accepted that they were stuck with one another - or otherwise he really was too lazy to make anything change. A rift so deep could not be patched over with a few handfuls of earth. Their working relationship had been put under what seemed to be an irreparable strain, all thanks to the weakness that had been given into without any serious thought of the lasting consequences and the readiness of a steady supply of booze to drown the temptation away.

A few muttered words transformed into full sentences, and then she was called into action once again instead of being ordered to stay behind her desk, getting on with the procedural parts of the job while the boys ran around on four wheels, having all the fun. He knew precisely how to punish her and she despised him for it, glancing up from the endless piles of paperwork to see him standing tall, imposing and with the reliable armour set firmly in place. God help anyone who should dare to stand in his way.

She was starting to believe that she was the enemy in all of this, that she was the one in her '80s guise who needed to be destroyed in order to return to a sense of normality. His hand fumbling inside his overcoat, checking that the gun was firmly in place before vacating. She steeled herself as she sat at the desk, counting down the seconds until he took her not entirely by surprise and aimed fire at her, his bullet piercing straight between her eyes. Back to where she had started from. The thought caused her blood to run icy cold within her veins, paralysing her from the inside out. She couldn't decide which would be the least agonising way to go.

He didn't even give her the briefest glance before heading out of the station doors, and in the next second she was able to breathe again, as painful as it felt rattling within her lungs.

He'd kept to one promise at least. _No more Bols, Lady B or Bolly Knickers_. Even as he caved and bought her a large glass of red at Luigi's a couple of nights previous, to attempt to break the ice that had frozen over them, he'd called her by her surname, keeping things strictly impersonal and retaining distance that still stretched wide. She'd thought about the night of Viv's birthday party, of lying with him in bed as the rain had lashed down outside, her body pressed to his as they bared their souls to one another. They'd never been so close. Ever since she'd felt uncomfortable walking around with the name that was no longer officially hers still attached to her, owning her and keeping her trapped. Still, it's not as though there was any alternative. It was too much of a risk to return to her maiden name, blowing apart any cover that she had.

The idea lingered in her head but she took too long to push it away, as ridiculous as it was.

She missed him. She missed the camaraderie that came naturally, the playful bickering that could turn serious on the drop of a pin but never went too far, always knowing where she stood.

The constant ache in her head and her heart told her – as if she wasn't already certain enough – that she missed him much more than that. Her body was crying out for him from every fibre, but not only in the way she had expected it to, craving satisfaction that she'd become too used to.

Now she was thinking of the kidnapping case, the one that had played on her mind after it had been wrapped up. She'd only been half-surprised by everything he did for her that night, putting her to bed and swiftly following, taking her into his arms and pressing his mouth to the top of her head while they lay together, the world outside falling into insignificance. How he kept to his word without fail, looking after her with more care and consideration than anyone else ever had, held her tighter when she began to shudder from the recent memories as well as the ones that had plagued her for longer.

His whispered words in her head, still. She recalled that he had sounded as vulnerable as she had felt, and imagined that he must have reckoned that she was fast asleep, else he never would have considered saying them.

" _S'alright, Alex. I'm 'ere, you don't 'ave to worry. I'll always be 'ere. You've got me, alright. Hook, line and bloody sinker..."_

Tears sprung up to her eyes as the anguish submerged her, clawing at her stomach.

It would be impossible to stay. Unthinkable. She'd been hard with him for that very reason, lied to his face about everything that was in her heart in order to protect him in the long run. She thought she was protecting herself too, but instead she'd sabotaged herself by denying what was looming larger every day, taking over her being steadily.

She called out for her every night. In the depths of darkness she expected that she might appear, stop hiding from plain sight and assure her that the fight wasn't worth giving up, that she was taking all the blows and punches for a reason.

It was of no use. Listening out for her voice was akin to being submerged in the deepest waters, looking for her face was fruitless when the extremes of blinding light and pitch blackness invaded her sight and fought to win her undivided attention.

Molly was gone, leaving nothing but a shadow behind, and she screamed into the void for the finality of loss.

Everything she'd ever had, ripped from her, following the same old pattern.

And now Gene had given up on her too, having been pushed away one too many times.

There was no point, she thought. All she could see ahead of her was darkness, impenetrable and unending. All of it her own doing.

She may as well lay here until she breathed her last. It couldn't be long now, in either world. _There was nothing to live for._

His knock never rapped against the door, threatening to pound it down with unrelenting force. Yet still she managed to pull herself out of the tangle of sheets, get to her feet, dressed to face another day in someone else's clothes. From beneath the floor she could hear faint music, the sound of Luigi's voice singing an aria, less of a battle cry than a simple, charming melody.

Giving in was not in her nature. She decided she would go on and face whatever was to come with the little life she had left in her, and tried not to think about all that could have been.

 _Oh, there could have been so much._

* * *

She tapped upon the door of his office, waiting with her limbs frozen until he admitted her entrance with a blunt call of 'come'. His back was to her, hands planted in his pockets, and she stood patiently, wondering whether he'd be coaxed into facing her in this instance.

"I've finished the profile of Woodson," she announced, the product of hours of work held in her hands, "some riveting stuff, but nothing unexpected. It all fits together."

The only movement he made was to nod his head once and shift his feet slightly upon the floor.

Patently, it was going to be one of those days. She suppressed a sigh of frustration.

"I'll leave it on your desk to look at in your own time, shall I?"

She suspected that he'd probably throw it in the bin the second she left the room, his disdain for her methods more pronounced than usual.

"Yeah," he uttered after a few moments, taking her by surprise. "Don't want to leave any stone unturned with this one. Mac's doubtin' what we're capable of, I've seen it on 'is face. Gotta show 'im that anybody underestimates the Gene-Genie at their peril."

Even if he had shifted focus in the space of a sentence, she had to smile at his referring to the plural. Things were going slowly, but perhaps they were getting there.

"Right you are," she said, laying the file down on the surprisingly tidy desk top.

She hesitated when it came to leaving, her hand dropping from the door handle just as soon as she had placed it there. It wasn't the time nor the place, but she didn't think she could wait any longer, growing tired of the unsettling feeling pulling and pinching beneath her skin.

 _Here goes nothing._

"We need to talk, Guv."

He stayed frozen like a statue and her heart dropped like a stone to the soles of her high heels. She was about to slink off, believing that he had chosen to ignore her again, until he turned to face her almost in slow motion, though his steely stare reached her without hesitation.

"Thought you'd said everythin' you needed to already," he replied, his expression unyielding.

His gaze was too much for her temporarily, went too far to her soul. He made her feel like a child at times, reprimanded and guilty for everything and nothing, when he had his own portion of the blame to deal with, going sorely overlooked.

"I shouldn't have rounded on you like that," she admitted, drawing her eyes up from where they had been looking at the floor. "We were both angry."

"Dunno about the past tense," he said, the underlying tension evident in his gaze. Did it ever really disappear? He sighed, setting his shoulders square as he continued to stare at her, making her feel almost claustrophobic. "You made a fool of me. An' that's not somethin' I take kindly to."

"I'm sorry," the apology left her automatically, though there was nothing hollow about it. "You caught me off guard, and it was all too much."

Her eyes began to water as she thought of that last evening, of how the whole day seemed to be like living in a dream. Dreams could never last, she was always told that as a child. _Be realistic, Alex_.

"I never used to take this world seriously," she continued, pushing down the sorrow she felt, already running on empty. "I do now."

His eyes grew yet more intense, cutting everything else off around her.

"And what about me?" he enquired, tone as flat and clipped as it was possible to be.

The lump rose to her throat, well-remembered from hours previous, sheer exhaustion causing her to sob her heart out several times over.

"I take you very seriously, Gene."

Her pulse thudded in her veins, the look in his eyes cutting her down to size, causing any strength she possessed to fade away to next to nothing.

He shook his head as he dropped his gaze, showing some portion of mercy to her, reaching into one of the drawers and extricating a half-empty bottle of scotch. She watched him pour a steady measure into a glass, running a finger around the rim before raising it to his lips.

She couldn't let herself linger too long, the very thoughts she was working so hard to banish flooding back into her head at full speed.

"If circumstances were different..." she started but quickly cut her sentence off, knowing it would only make things worse if she stumbled too far down that road without thought. "My daughter is my priority, and if there's any hope that I can get back to her then I have to hold onto that. I can't let myself get distracted."

She winced at her choice of words, still sounding so cold when that wasn't her intention, not this time around.

He lowered the glass from his mouth, placed it onto the desk without taking his eyes from her.

"If you think I don't know that, then you must think very little of me."

Her head sunk lower, hands clasping tight in front of her.

"I didn't mean it, y'know. The stuff I said." His tone was softer, apologetic.

"I know," she nodded, looking at him. "I couldn't exactly blame you."

"So long as you do," he uttered. Another stretch of silence between them as they both contemplated what they'd done, wielding words with nothing greater in their design than to hurt one another. "I could 'elp you."

"What?" Once again she found herself dazed, not exactly sure of where she was or what he was offering to her.

"Track 'er down. Do what there is to be done so you can be back with 'er again." Everything about him was utterly sincere, she could tell, his voice wavering only slightly. "I'd look after you both, y'know. I dunno much about kids, but I can learn. If she's a chip off the old block then it won't take long." He managed a small smile towards her before his expression turned again. "Can't do any worse than that dickhead ex-husband of yours."

The tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she considered all that he'd said. The man standing in front of her was nothing like the boorish, thuggish neanderthal she'd attempted to categorise him as in the first few months. He was good, kind, decent, thoughtful in his own unique manner of being.

He didn't consider himself capable of love, but given what he'd admitted he was willing to do there seemed to be very little doubt.

"It's so good of you, Gene," the words she said back in reply were terribly weak in comparison, "but I can't. I can't let you."

His expression crumpled before her eyes, a few seconds of vulnerability on show before he put the barriers of self-preservation back in place.

 _It's for your own good_ , she wanted to tell him. _If I told you the truth you'd never believe me, and it'd ruin us both._

"The simple fact of all this is that I'm buggered if I know where I stand with you." He'd returned to his previous harshness, and she couldn't have expected anything less, steeling herself for the torrent that was to come. "Every time I think I'm doin' the right thing, givin' you what you want, you throw it right back in my face and then some, and it's startin' to get very annoyin'. Not just that, but it's makin' me doubt meself, all of this bloody back and forth."

She nodded her head, understanding where he was coming from. "I'm sorry," she told him again.

"I don't want to 'ear you say you're sorry," he barked, making her recoil for a moment. He seemed startled himself, his eyes searching hers. "You're so fond of talkin'. Then you talk to me, Alex, if I mean anythin' to you at all."

His use of her name alone took her aback, her mouth hanging open.

If she was braver – or perhaps reckless – she'd say something entirely different. The words echoed in her mind, fought to escape.

 _I'm from the future. I was shot and I woke up here, with you. Just like Sam Tyler, only this is my reality. And I am fighting not to die, because if I die, I will never get home. And it's insane, but there it is. And I trust you, which is why I'm telling you the truth._

It was herself that she didn't trust.

"I can't," the repetitive words left her lips, her eyes desperate as she watched him lower his head, unable to look at her.

She had the feeling that by saying two simple words that she'd pushed him away for good, lost hold of the lifeline that was keeping her afloat.

The next thing she said came out as a whisper, so low that she doubted herself whether she'd actually uttered it aloud.

"You mean too much."

His selective hearing seemed to kick in again, or otherwise he just needed to stay in control while she threatened to fall apart in front of his eyes.

"I really thought you and me...," he began and quickly broke off, "I thought we were the ones. We had a connection."

It was getting painful for her to breathe, let alone say anything in reply. "We do."

A shadow of a spiteful smile passed over his lips. "I'm talkin' other than between the sheets. You can't tell me the truth, and that isn't exactly a good place to start from."

She was left defeated, not knowing what else to do. At least it was good that they hadn't torn each other to pieces. Emotions were another matter altogether.

He replenished the measure in his glass, refraining from offering her a sip as she stood awkwardly. The conversation seemed to have come to an end, but she couldn't quite believe after everything, all of the months, that it had come down to this.

"What do we do now?" she said, knowing that she was grasping now.

Clinging on to the faintest hope of survival, in either case.

"I dunno, Bolly," he replied, looking her straight in the eyes, listlessness in his tone. "For once, I 'aven't got the faintest clue."

* * *

She knew precisely what she was going to do, for this evening at least.

Drinking alone in the flat was utterly depressing, and listening to Ray as he told the same smutty jokes all night while the others laughed along was arguably even more so. She looked longingly at the empty table in the corner, knowing it wasn't an option and neither would it likely be for some time to come. There was too much water to wade through, and in truth she didn't know whether she could keep her head above for long enough.

No, she needed to get out of here and quick, before she was dragged back into the depths of despair by her heels for another night.

She took the opportunity to slink away while Gene was preoccupied at the bar, telling them all that it'd been a pleasure as usual and taking the lighter out from Chris's reach, knowing that he'd be grateful for it later.

"Ma'am, will you be alright?" Shaz's voice stopped her in her tracks, concern beyond her years written upon the younger woman's face.

Alex painted on a smile even though she didn't feel especially cheery. A few more drinks would solve that problem, she was sure, somewhere brighter and more hopeful than the muted familiarity of Luigi's.

"Absolutely fine. I'm not going to go halfway across town, just to some place different."

Shaz didn't look convinced, her worried gaze seeking out the lone figure at the bar.

"Guv, don't you think..."

"DI Drake's a big girl, Shaz," he mumbled without looking up from his new glass, "she can look after 'erself."

Alex nodded her head in silent gratitude at his recognition, then held Shaz tight for a moment, the girl feeling tense in her arms.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun."

"You too, Ma'am. Be careful, won't you?"

She nodded sagely. Bless her heart. It was nice that someone still cared about her welfare. The optimistic half of her had hoped that Gene would have backed Shaz up more thoroughly, barricaded the exit and ordered her upstairs, all the while the look in his eyes betraying the harshness of his tone and the vice-like grip upon her arm.

Except he'd made it quite clear that he didn't give a toss, and her heart sunk that little bit lower within her chest.

She dipped into the first bar that looked vaguely modern and didn't scream '80s clichés in neon signs. If she couldn't escape then at least she could pretend for a while. Perching at the bar she watched as the dancefloor filled, needing to work up the courage to lose herself in the music that pounded against the walls. It had been years since she'd gone clubbing on a Friday night, leaving a toddling Molly with an already exhausted Evan. She'd intended to have a good time, forget about her responsibilities for a few hours, but she wouldn't have been out for much longer than an hour before she started to regret. Her university friends were all free in every sense of the word, making a competition of who could pull the best-looking guy the fastest. She felt so detached from them; it was little wonder that she steadily lost touch with them, one by one, preferring to spend her free time playing Barbies with her little girl, cuddling her close before she tucked her into bed.

The drinks slid down easily, empty glasses lining up against her spot at the bar. Timelines blurred in her mind, everything took on a hazy glow. She wasn't as drunk as she wanted to be yet, but she was definitely on her way to getting there.

From the back of the room the music reached her, the slow melody of the song half drowned-out but the lyrics seeping through to her consciousness. She frowned as they sounded steadily clearer to her, ignoring the swaying couples occupying the dancefloor.

 _# Change your heart, look around you  
Change your heart, it will astound you  
I need your loving like the sunshine  
Everybody's gotta learn sometime... #_

The alcohol she'd consumed lurched uncomfortably in her stomach while she pushed harder against the walls of her mind. _Not tonight, I just want to forget for tonight._ Before she could see it through she was on her feet, money deposited at the bar, searching for solace somewhere else.

The next place was busier, the music reliably more uptempo. It was far easier to fade against the swell of the crowd, though all she intended on doing was finding a spot from which she could drink. Ironic really, given that there was a seat with her name practically written on it somewhere else, but the change of scenery was what she needed, along with several vodka chasers.

She was still wincing after all but downing her latest when she became aware of voices at her side, the smell of some strong but currently unidentifiable spirit filling her nostrils.

"You," one of the voices slurred in a distinctly Southern accent, "are without doubt the most gorgeous girl in here."

She didn't even pretend to be impressed at being called a 'girl', laughing loudly into her sadly empty glass.

"We were trying to work out what you do for a living," the one to the other side of her said. "I reckon nurse, if just for the uniform."

"And I told him no, she's got to be a model," the first interjected, the heat of his breath washing closer. "In particular, a _lingerie_ model. Oh please, tell me that I'm the one who's got it right."

"Wrong," she stated, swivelling on her seat, "I'm a police officer. A Detective Inspector."

"You should arrest him for being so disrespectful," the second one said eagerly, bumping against her shoulder as she got up. "Have you got any handcuffs?"

"In your dreams," she chuckled, leaving the pair of idiots by the bar as she headed towards the exit. Getting a look at them they didn't appear to be any older than mid-twenties, and the sniggering made them appear even more like adolescents.

The fresh air was like a bolt to her senses after being surrounded by smoke and dry ice. Impossible to avoid all cliches, even for one night. She looked down the street lined with various nightspots, trying to pick out the one that seemed the least offending.

A hand placed itself against her waist, and she knew that she wasn't so far gone as to be imagining it. Turning her head, she was confronted with the face of one of the blokes from inside, the slimier one who obviously thought he was flattering her hopelessly with his assertions about her profession.

"Go on, then," he breathed into her ear, "aren't you going to tell me what a naughty boy I've been?"

She laughed, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp, which was surprisingly strong given that he'd knocked back a fair bit of booze.

"Or I could turn the tables on you," he suggested, pressing his body up against her back. "I reckon you'd like that, officer."

"No, I wouldn't."

Both hands were sliding over her, grasping at the hem of her jacket. Music spilled out from the open doors of the club, the sound of retching punctuating the thudding beat.

"Don't be like that, darling. I know you're up for it..."

She shook her head, kicking her heel back against his shin.

"I'm not going to tell you again."

He chuckled, rising back slowly to full height. "Like it rough, then? Well I'm all about that, so you're in luck..."

Just because she wasn't going to think about Gene tonight it didn't mean that she couldn't act like him.

Her punch landed perfectly against his jaw, sending him falling to the ground.

"Bitch!"

She had little reason to be fearful, given that he was so weighed down by alcohol that he struggled to sit up, never mind get back onto his feet.

"Let that be a lesson to you," she shouted, "when a woman says 'no', she bloody well means it!"

Leaving the sorry scene behind her she began to walk in the opposite direction to which she'd come from, being careful of the crooked pavement and the ground which seemed to be wobbling ever so slightly perilously beneath her feet.

Squinting, she made out the shadow of the figure coming closer towards her, her instincts telling her that she needn't put up the same defences against this one.

"Bolly!"

She didn't need to, but by God, if she didn't want to smack him with almost the same amount of force.

"Can I not get one night to myself?" she exclaimed into the relative silence of the street, arms raised either side of her.

"Don't need to bloody tell me," he replied, an arm reaching around her waist as he arrived beside her. "And before you accuse me, no, I wasn't following yer. I was tryin' to stop Ray from gettin' so hammered 'e couldn't stand, but given that e's passed out in a pub down the road that didn't exactly go to plan. And God knows I wasn't goin' to sit there like Soft Joe until 'e wakes up. Right bloody rag-tag bunch you are, if it's not one of yer it's another bein' a right pain in my derriere."

"You're speaking French," she pointed out helpfully.

"Yes Bols, that's 'ow miffed I am."

And yet he continued to walk with her, keeping her upright more than she was capable of doing at this point by herself, though she wouldn't dare admit it.

"Jesus, you're paralytic," he huffed, "Need to pace yerself, Bolly. You can barely walk in a straight line."

She wrinkled her nose in contempt. "I don't think I need advice from you, Gene."

He scoffed at her. "Given that I'm still in possession of all me faculties, I beg to differ."

"I am _not_ drunk," she maintained, looking at him with bleary eyes. "I'll have you know that I punched a man to the floor."

"Only because 'e was as pissed as you are! I could smell 'im a mile off." They both cast a glance back to where the sorry individual was curled up on the ground, knees to his chest. "An' not to insult your abilities, Bols, but 'e's hardly built like a brick shithouse."

She stopped their strides, taking his arm from where it was fixed about her and gave him an ineffectual shove against his chest.

"Don't tempt me."

He pouted at her in the orange shine of the streetlight, his hair glistening in it. She wasn't going to tell him about how she had been pawed and leered at, she didn't want all hell to break loose on what had been a predominately calm night.

Her eyes fixed upon him while her head pounded, the effects of what would be an eventual hangover already seeming to come into play. He leaned in close to her, hand holding her wrist, and she felt foolish and sad for feeling a fluttering in her chest. Whatever she tried it seemed that she was physically unable of shaking all that she felt for him.

"Time to call it a night, Alex," he said, leaning back away from her, looking down into the road. "You smell inflammable."

"That doesn't even make sense," she replied, taking a step forward before he yanked her backwards onto the curb, a cab appearing out of nowhere in front of them.

"Makes more sense than you do right now. In."

She hesitated for a second before bundling herself into the back, his hands giving her an additional shove onto the backseat. For a moment she expected him to slam the door behind her as she blinked in the darkness.

"Shove up," he commanded her, "need a bit more room than your scrawny arse takes up."

There wasn't really a need for the taxi, given that they were back outside Luigi's within the space of a couple of minutes. The driver gave them a mouthful about wasting his time, which was quickly matched by Gene who threw a couple of notes into his compartment to make up for the trouble. Then he was muttering his complaints about her as she went slowly up the stairs, saying something about drugged-up snails going at a quicker pace. She didn't answer him back, only being determined to show him and herself that she could do it on her own. It was going to be good practice.

She threw herself backwards onto the sofa, neglecting to take off her jacket.

"Bloody shoes."

The offending articles were swiftly pulled from her feet by him, sitting on the floor.

"Don't go gettin' ideas. They're all I'm goin' to take off you tonight."

She rolled herself onto her side, slumping against the cushions.

"Feels like déjà-whatsit," he remarked.

" _Vu_ ," she finished off the phrase for him.

"Who?"

She huffed loud in exasperation, and too many vodkas. " _Déjà vu._ French for 'already seen'."

"Christ, someone needs to shoot me before I'm in danger of becoming a frog for real."

Her mind couldn't help but make the obvious link, even if she didn't have the energy to lean forward and kiss him.

"An overwhelming sense of familiarity with something that shouldn't be familiar at all. God, if only it was that easy to explain."

"Yes, thank you for today's lesson. The last thing I need is you bloody lecturin' me. I don't need to become a quack as well."

"If all you're going to do is sit there and do me down then just piss off now, Gene."

With her eyes closed and his back to her she could only hear him chuckle. "Two things, Bolly. One, you need to grow a thicker skin if you want to stay a copper."

He paused for a long while, making her wonder if he'd either dozed off or buggered off.

"And you know what your biggest problem is? You think too much. Even now, when you're half cut. Sometimes it's okay to just let things mindlessly wash over you, y'know. Sometimes it's even the preferable option. Life's too bleedin' short."

The last thing she needed was for him to get philosophical.

"And you don't think enough!" she exclaimed, the pent up frustration she'd been feeling for days tumbling forth from her, disinhibited thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream. "Anything that's on your mind just comes spilling out, you can't hold anything in for any longer than five seconds at most."

"Eh, you should know _that_ isn't true."

"You shouldn't have said it," she choked, the emotion suddenly thick in her voice, somehow feeling worse given that she wasn't looking at him. She felt the nerves in her legs tremble, apparently incapable of controlling her body.

The silence was more sickening than if he had hurled any number of excuses and insults at her.

"What was I supposed to do? You're making things impossible for me, Gene." She sighed, placing both hands on her stomach, praying that she wasn't going to be sick. To prevent it, she inhaled deeply. "As if it isn't bad enough already."

He grunted, and she wondered faintly whether he was actually taking her advice to heart, at a time when she partly wished that he would discard it completely.

She felt herself being covered by a blanket, his hand skimming over her too briefly - before she could catch hold of it to keep him in place.

"Forget what I said, Bols. With a bit of luck 'avin drunk double your body weight this evenin' you'll 'ave no problem doin' just that come the mornin'."

 _That's just it. I can't._

Instead of saying the words she groaned something incomprehensible, fumbling with the cushion that he'd placed underneath her head.

"I'll get you a bucket and a glass of water, just in case."

"Gene..."

She said his name feebly, only too aware that there was very little she could do to make him stay.

She felt the brush of his lips against her hairline, knowing that she hadn't slipped into slumber that quickly.

"Sweet dreams, Madam Fruitcake," he uttered, "if you're not in the station by nine tomorrow, no matter what state you're in, there'll be trouble. Mark my words."

* * *

Some things in life really were unavoidable. Death – eventually. Taxes. And hangovers. She had known that there was a reason why she had sworn off vodka back in her own time, and it occurred to her again all too painfully the morning she found herself curled up on the sofa, last night's clothes still on and a blanket that wasn't heavy enough to keep out the chill askew over her body.

It had taken a couple of days for the fog to lift fully, and even before it had she found herself pulling an empty notepad out of somewhere and starting a rule-book of sorts for the rest of her existence here.

 _Number 1: Stick to wine._

She held the glass of red in one hand, pondering how the second item on the list was simply too much to ask for. She recalled scribbling it out quickly, annoyed with herself that the page had become quickly messy. Perhaps it was a failing of hers that no matter how large the odds stacked against her were she always strove that bit too far to overcome them.

He was right, and she hated when that was the case. So what if she thought too much? In almost every aspect of her life that was an advantage. The amount of times that she'd saved their skins thanks to her oversized, overworked brain...and she hardly got any thanks for it.

She didn't want to be bitter. Another large sip to wash the impending feeling away. It's not like there was anything else to do aside from thinking. Other than drinking, of course. And another thing that would land her in even more trouble.

It wasn't like it had been in the beginning. The idea of picking up some random bloke with a fairly attractive face and a nice enough body in which to lose herself for an hour, or even less, turned her stomach. That had never been who she was. All that would come from such dalliances was regret, guilt, a considerable helping of second-hand disappointment and overwhelming sorrow.

That she wasn't in the arms of someone else, far closer within reach.

God, these set of rules were completely hopeless.

 _Number 2: Stop thinking about him._

That had been the most unavoidable thing of all. Of course, not entirely helpful when his presence was larger than life itself, right in front of her for most of the hours of each day. But it was when she was alone that she was at her most vulnerable. Not a second could apparently go past without him there, looming in every corner of her mind. Looking through her from the inside out, not so much asking her but telling her. Her subconscious seemed to prefer it when he didn't give her the option, a fact that didn't disturb her as much as it should have done.

She looked down at the bar again, surprised to find that a cake on a small plate had turned up in front of her, thick chocolate piping topped with a glazed walnut in the centre.

Luigi's gentle smile greeted her when she cast her gaze up further.

"It's not my birthday for another month."

"You are sad, Signorina," he offered as an explanation, shoving the plate further over towards her, placing a spoon to its side. "It will be our little secret, that you are my favourite customer. Nobody else will get cake, so eat it quickly."

"You're too kind, Luigi."

She made light work of the treat, surprising as she hadn't thought she was all that hungry. The sugar rush cheered her up somewhat, the delicate flavour of coffee in the sponge acting to sharpen her senses that had been dulled by the wine.

"It is Signor Hunt. Why you are so sad."

She looked up at the Italian, not needing to affirm his reasoning with words.

"I tell 'im all the time that he needs to cherish you, bella. Show you what you really mean to 'im before it is too late. But he will not listen." Luigi frowned towards her. "It's – what you say. Out of one ear and into the other."

Alex smiled at his misappropriation, edging her fingertips around the bottom of her glass.

"Don't be too harsh on him," she requested of the restaurateur, "I think we both ought to give him a little more credit."

As if by magic, or some other unexplainable force, the man in question appeared, striding up towards the bar. Alex straightened herself on her stool, eyes blinking towards him as he stood tall at her side. She clung to the counter, some vague attempt to stop herself from melting away.

"Can't let you drink on yer own," he announced, pouring the new bottle out between the two glasses that stood upon the bar, his eyes meeting hers once both glasses were dangerously close to overflowing. "And I'm bored out of me skull."

She leaned forward, bringing her mouth to the rim of the glass to steadily dispose of some of its contents. Once she'd got rid of the excess she felt him nudging her shoulder, encouraging her to lift her glass and clink it with his own.

"We're celebratin' tonight, Bols."

"What, exactly?"

The intensity of his silver-edged stare unsettled her just slightly as she rested her arms back on the bar, the toast concluded.

"That all the members of my team can successfully find their arses with both 'ands," he exclaimed. He leaned closer to her, treating her to the scent of his aftershave which seemed to be more potent than usual. "The fact that you, despite several brave attempts, 'aven't yet managed to drink yerself into a coma."

Well, there was still time.

"And nothing about you?" she asked him, bumping the toe of her boot against his ankle.

"Just all of my many good points, but if I were to list them we'd be 'ere until next week. And then there would definitely be nothin' down for you, Bollykecks."

She couldn't help herself from smiling wryly, though it seemed to be only part of her intentions, watching him as he sunk his glass nearly to the bottom.

"Everything back to normal, Bols," he said, the conspicuous absence of even a small smile gracing his expression, "or as good as. Things as they were before. Suits me down to the ground."

To punctuate his point he slammed an open palm against the bar, causing her to flinch only slightly.

"Fan-bloody-tastic."

Not for the first time she started to think that she should write him a rulebook of his own. Without any ounce of doubt the first item would read _stop burying my head and everything else fifty foot deep in the sand._

She pushed the glass that was still more than half full away from her, resting her chin on her hand with her body turned towards his.

"Come upstairs," she uttered, her eyes fixed firm upon his.

His face appeared to flash a telling shade of white, and he swallowed down the latest gulp.

"Steady on," he returned once he'd got rid of the mouthful of wine, "you're not so dippy that you didn't 'ear a word of what I just said."

She pushed away the darker thoughts circling her head, extending her arm to where his hand rested upon the bar but stopping short of making contact.

"I can't tell you what I want to down here," she continued, reaching out for courage somewhere deep within her, and refraining from taking it out of a bottle. A genuine smile lifted her lips higher. "I've got a present for you, if that will persuade you in any way."

He eyed her with something that didn't quite cross the line into full-blown suspicion, watching as she uncrossed her legs and slid from the stool.

For a few terrible moments she stared at him, waiting, wondering if this really would be the end of it. Him refusing her with a grunt of disguised indifference – or perhaps she'd read it wrong all along.

Her heart, paused precariously, started to thud steadily again when he got to his feet, lifting two glasses which contained no better than dregs into the hands of a waiting Luigi.

"Buy another bottle, put it on the tab. Something for you and the missus."

The Italian was taken aback by Gene's offer, smiling widely once he had come out the other side of the shock.

"Grazie, Signor Hunt."

As the pair of them turned to exit the trattoria, neither heard the happy murmurings of its owner left in their wake.

"The signorina was right after all."

She let him enter the flat first, slowing her breath as she closed the door behind them both. It should have felt more familiar than it did; he refrained from sitting down, seemingly not wanting to take his own advice, and so she followed his lead, standing somewhat awkwardly in the front room.

"Where's this present then," he asked, with the lack of subtlety that she had come to take for granted from him and which suddenly stung at her, given the situation which currently existed between them, "or do I need to give yer some time to get it ready?"

There was a glint in his eyes which came to the fore when he finished speaking, and she felt herself relax, rebuking him with a smile. She was thankful for the opportunity to head to the kitchen to retrieve the token, the weight of his stare upon her in much closer quarters affecting her deeply and making her want to disregard any carefully crafted plan that she had come up with in the last few hours to jump on him instead and have done with it.

For some reason she felt a little nervous passing the heavy bottle into his hands, watching him as he examined the label with eyes that appeared to be approving. She'd stuck a gaudy gift bow to the neck, one that she had left over from Christmas and which she'd had no real reason to purchase.

After a long moment's silence, leaving her in an almost unbearable limbo, he glanced back up at her.

"Good stuff, this. Very good stuff indeed." He turned the bottle of twelve year-old malt over in his palms. "Dip into your vast inheritance to afford this? Otherwise they're payin' you too much and I'm not gettin' enough."

"I bought it a few weeks back. I thought we could break into it after midnight on the first of the month." She felt her cheeks heat with colour as she looked to him, her grand plans of them sharing the bottle as they lay in bed together having been dashed before they could become reality. "But, well, that didn't happen."

As he unscrewed the top she held out a glass towards him, taking the bottle off his hands once his measure of the golden liquid had been dispensed, and pouring out one for herself.

"Better late than never, Bolly."

She nodded, taking a slow sip from the glass. The first rule broken and it had only been a couple of days. Well, she hadn't been able to stick to the second for more than a couple of minutes. She didn't particularly like the taste of whisky, though she'd grown fonder of it recently and knew that it was down to his influence. She owed him this toast, and the burn of the liquid against her throat instilled her with the resolution she needed.

Another sip, and a deep breath that made her feel almost dizzy.

"Gene," she began the best way she knew how, cradling the glass in her palm and looking him straight in the eyes, "I need to explain..."

"No need, Bols," he cut her off quickly, breaking their gaze for a few uncomfortable seconds before his expression set again in that reliable, incomparable pout. "Just tell me that I'm the best you've ever 'ad and I can die happy."

She laughed unexpectedly, somewhat glad that he had chosen to break the tension, even if the look in his eyes told another story.

"You want me to tell you the truth," she said, fighting to stop her voice from shaking, her palms sweating so much that she worried that the glass was going to slip from her grasp at any moment.

"It's all I ask from any one of you," he replied, her hopes back on the verge of slipping away again. "More so from you if I'm honest. But we're nothin' if we can't be straight with one another."

She dipped her head down, swirling the amber around the glass.

"I understand that. And I know that I can't lie to you."

She looked back at him after a few moments, the thoughts that had been going round in her head for the last couple of days so close to coming out, being transformed into reality. Taking this step would solidify everything, and while she couldn't escape her guilt she had come to realise that it was something she would have to live with, putting it to the back of her mind as much as she was able from day to day.

Molly wasn't here. The choice when it came down to it wasn't as insurmountable as she had always made out. She could spend what time she had here denying herself and feeling needlessly miserable, placing herself in a self-imposed prison where there was no reward. Each day more hopeless than the next until things were so bad that she'd be begging for death. She worried that eventually she'd do something drastic in the face of her despair, something that there would be no coming back from in either existence.

"The truth is that I'm scared a lot of the time," she said, starting to feel at least some weight lift from her shoulders, "and I don't think I've ever been as scared as I was when you said...what you said."

She sighed, taking another sip from her glass while he didn't move to interrupt her. Probably thinking she had finally lost her feeble grip on reality.

"It took me by surprise, I suppose, because you're...one of the only things I can rely on. For being stubborn, and angry. And conceited."

"You'll have me blushing," he muttered with light sarcasm in his tone.

A smile started to blossom on her lips. She had a good idea that he could handle her pointing out his faults far better than he would if she had gushed about all the hidden depths she had discovered in the time that they had grown even closer, the heart of gold that lay buried beneath a rough exterior.

"When you walked out that night, I thought I'd lost you," she went on, daring to step in that bit closer to him. "And I know I wouldn't be able to bear that."

Her gaze was full of the emotion that she had fought so hard to repress, being certain that it was the wrong thing to do, that if she surrendered it would lead her further away from where she needed to be. As she looked into his eyes, she was becoming more convinced that he felt the same emotion, perhaps something that was so foreign that it made him revert to the most basic of responses. Fight or flight.

"This last month," she said, her tone sounding brighter as her true self emerged more fully, "I'm being honest when I say it's the happiest I've been in a long time."

She never could have imagined that could possibly be the case when she had arrived in a whirl of confusion, wanting nothing more than to break the walls that fenced her in. She never could have thought that he would be the one to make her feel that way. Whether she was here for another two months or ten years, she just wanted to spend the time being happy. It was such a simple concept, one which she had never seemed to fully grasp before now.

His mouth twitched, absorbing what she had confessed.

"Same 'ere," he said, so quickly that she almost didn't catch it. "Aside from the night that Luigi got pissed and we emptied the bar."

She smiled, feeling somewhat relieved that he hadn't poured his heart out. If there was one thing she could rely on, it was him.

Stepping nearer still, into the space filled by his shadow, she had a sudden realisation. She was still torn between two worlds, but within less than a second she had moved closer into his.

In that second she wanted to do nothing other than fall, into the void, into his arms.

His eyes bore through her, open windows to his normally shuttered soul.

"I can't say that I'll be around forever."

She swallowed down her sense of regret, not wanting to mislead him or promise anything that she couldn't be sure of, while at the same time knowing that she didn't want this chance to pass her by. It suddenly occurred to her that almost everything else – aside from Molly – had been the illusion. _This_ was what felt real. She sensed it with every thundering beat of her heart.

He nodded at her, unfazed. "Now's good enough for me, Bols. I'm not askin' yer to start pickin' out curtains and bleedin' china."

The idea caused her to grin, the picture of the pair of them in domestic bliss. Gene in an apron with a considerable bosom and curvy figure on the front, clad in bright yellow marigolds.

She couldn't rule out the impossible; getting to this stage had seemed improbable enough, months ago.

Her reverie consumed her almost to the core, but luckily he was there to pull her out.

"So this is gunna happen, then?" Straight to the point, as ever. "I know what you're like for sayin' one thing and meanin' another."

If things hadn't felt quite so momentous – if it hadn't seemed like all the oxygen was being slowly sucked out of her body with each second that went by – she would have been inclined to make a joke about how he was cottoning on to this psychology lark.

Instead she raised her chin, looking at him straight and willing herself not to melt away.

She placed the tips of her fingers ever so lightly upon his chest, electric shocks charging through her.

"I want to be with you, Gene," she nodded, "in more than just the professional sense. If you'll have me, that is."

The realistic part warned her that perhaps too much had come between them, that perhaps she had shattered his pride irreparably. He had his limits and she was constantly testing them, for her amusement if nothing more serious.

The smirk glimmered in the depths of his eyes before it so much as brushed against his lips. His shoulders gave a visible shrug, hands planted in pockets in a show of defiance.

"You'll do, I s'pose. No Diana Dors, like..."

The leisurely way with which he uttered the words by all rights should have had her affronted. _The bastard_ , she thought affectionately.

His smile was a rare and wonderful occurrence, a shooting star across a sky of otherwise pedestrian constellations.

"Course I bloody want you, yer daft mare. Don't think I've ever wanted anyone or anythin' more."

Her heart fluttered wildly at the sound of his voice, accent more pronounced than it had ever been. The proximity of him, a mere matter of breath away; his fingers brushing hers as he took the glass from her hand and deposited it on the low coffee table along with his own, then landing firmly on her waist, pulling her nearer to him. In the space of seconds, she felt wonderfully overwhelmed.

She entered another dimension completely when his lips claimed hers, his other hand on her cheek, tilting her face even closer. The whisky doubled on her tongue; she needn't touch another drop as long as she lived, he was enough to get her drunk all on his own, day after day. She wasn't sure that she could ever get enough.

Her hands pawed at him, she thought she could hear him hum and then chuckle slightly as they broke apart slowly, both equally as dazed as one another, displaying it in different ways.

The warnings in her mind remained, though they were steadily being overpowered by louder whisperings.

 _This could be it. You might never make it back._

She found swift consolation in his eyes, shifting from blue to stark silver.

"I missed that," she mumbled, already feeling weak from the absence of his mouth upon hers.

He smirked, both hands stroking her waist before one palm snaked its way upwards.

"I missed a bit more than that."

A frisson coursed through her as he took a breast into his grasp, the familiar pulse setting itself lower down her body.

As much as she wanted to give in, she promised herself that she'd show restraint. They'd done quite enough diving in, heels before heads. Now they were going to make a proper go of things she wanted to take her foot off the accelerator. Still, she was very much enjoying his fingers resting where they were, feeling the tingles racing beneath her clothes and piercing her skin.

"I'm not going to march you out," she said, the sultriness of her tone betraying her true intentions, "but for tonight, I just want to sleep with you. And I mean, _sleep._ "

The days and nights had caught up with her, not to mention the exhaustion of having to reveal the feelings she'd been so determined to push down for too long.

Shadows of disappointment passed like storm clouds across his irises, his expression quickly evening out.

"I'm just glad yer didn't decide to punch me."

She smiled at the warmth of his hand, still closed over the swell of her breast, leaning forward to go firmly for the other option he had presented her with all those months ago.

The kiss lasted for some time, fingers tangling in hair and sweeping over curves before they found each other. Alex could have sighed in satisfaction, so much weight lifted from her shoulders as she led him back down the path that had become familiar to them, imbued with new meaning that flashed like neon upon the walls of the flat.

"I 'ope you'll let me get me leg over soon, Bolly," he uttered when they were half inside the bedroom and she turned to him with a wry smile, "turns out goin' without the other with you is a hundred times worse than swearin' off the booze."

* * *

"They never gave us anythin'."

Alex narrowed her eyes, taking in a better view of his disgruntled features at the close proximity. She distributed the dregs of the bottle evenly between the two glasses sitting atop the table, disappointed to discover that there was less than she thought.

"Hmmm?"

He leaned closer over the table, fingers extending around the stem of his glass. "That lot, for the poxy bet. We won fair and square, Bols, and yet they've all apparently 'ad a knock to the 'ead."

She smiled, shaking her head at his expression, deadly serious. As infuriating as he could be when he got into a mood about something entirely trivial it was also often the case that at the same time he looked incredibly sexy whilst he sulked.

"Well, I don't think it was _technically_ a bet," she aimed to play devil's advocate, taking a sip from her glass that drained its remaining contents, "more of a personal challenge."

He tutted, turning his head to the side for a moment or two, giving her the chance to gaze unashamedly at him in profile.

"If the boot was on the other foot, I'm tellin' yer they would 'ave cleaned us out by now."

"For someone who expects a hundred per cent commitment from your team you don't exactly give them the benefit of the doubt."

She leaned on her elbow, smiling at him as he stared at her, knowing that even now she wasn't exempt from the same treatment – which was fine with her.

Her voice lowered instinctively, even with the usual chatter and background music cloaking the words of their conversation and the rest of the team keeping their distance from the spot that was exclusively theirs.

"And if they found out what we got up to instead, I have a feeling that we'd need to be the ones paying up."

The glimmer in her eyes was infectious, passing to him within seconds of the implication that was made. She was vaguely aware of the rumours that had circulated about them, some cruder than others, but she took satisfaction in the fact that certainty was much more fulfilling than conjecture. And while they were more definite than ever before of what they were to one another, neither of them had any intention of making it more common knowledge, at least not for the time being.

The idea of it thrilled her. Not in an illicit way; they were both too old to gain any gratification from sneaking around like teenagers, guarding their secret romance. There was just something about it being the two of them – either against the world or running it together on their own terms – that simultaneously exhilarated and made her feel more secure than she'd ever been, anywhere. Nobody else to interfere or question. They had one another and that was all that was needed. For today and tomorrow; she promised herself that she wouldn't look too far past that.

Instead she'd look back, but again not by much distance. When they had gone to bed that night, worn out by nervous energy, she'd made a silent vow that she had been determined to keep: no sex for a few days, at the very least. As it was, her resolve weakened at an almost inconceivable speed; waking in the early hours and finding him in a similar state had proved to be an insurmountable temptation, his nearly-naked body next to hers and the memories of how amazing he made her feel in what appeared to come as second nature were enough to push her over the edge, and within minutes that seemed like fleeting moments in her desperation their reconciliation was complete.

Breathing heavily in a tangle of limbs, hands moving like water over skin, she had blinked at him in the paler darkness, feeling a day that was quite different from the ones that had preceded it approaching on the horizon. They'd moved light years forwards in the space of a couple of hours but they shared the same doubts and fears, the feelings of loss and being burned. What was between them was so much more than physical, more than a thirst to be quenched and a need to be temporarily satisfied. Knowledge was never something to be underestimated, a fact they both knew well enough. Looking at him, tracing her fingertips over his cheek as they lay together, she didn't feel guilt for not saying it and she wouldn't berate him for staying silent either, knowing that it was far harder for him to acknowledge the complex emotions that went deep past the surface and further to the soul.

It sounded mad but also strangely explainable that they inhabited the same one.

He moved his hand across the table, brushing hers briefly before swiping up the sadly empty bottle of house rubbish, getting to his feet.

"Time to take what's rightfully ours, Bolly," he announced with relish, driven by determination that justice be done. "You sit that bony arse of yours at the bar, and I'll be over in a jiffy."

She took her time in doing as he had said, deliberately slowing her movements and sneaking glances back over her shoulder, smiling at him while nobody else took a blind bit of notice and keeping him frozen to the spot for longer than he had intended.

He shook his head with his hands in his pockets, watching her perch herself on one of the high stools and talking with Luigi, one hand ruffling in her hair. As ridiculous as it was his skin prickled with irritation at seeing her laugh with the little Italian, wanting to be the only one that caused such a reaction in her. _Well, at least there was something else in which he had the monopoly._ He knew only too well that she was going to infuriate him, probably all the more so now, and not for the first time he wondered whether he had dug a considerable hole for himself, even if he had jumped in willingly.

Then again, he'd had time to live with the alternative in the time that they'd been 'apart', separated even as they worked side by side. It was enough for him to know that he didn't like it. For as much as she drove him round the bend with her perplexing ways and her constant picking at him he found that her good points outweighed the stuff that he couldn't stand. Even those bits he was warming to. She really was a one-off – _which was just as well_ – and where once he cursed that he'd been saddled with her now he had to admit that his luck had been in.

There was other stuff too, things he didn't want to get properly into at this moment in time. When she'd let him know what she wanted he simultaneously felt like jumping for joy and running a million miles to get away from her. She might be the expert but he knew enough about how women's minds worked. Soon enough she'd be expecting him to be all hearts and flowers, going all gooey over her and letting her on in the biggest secret of all. He'd had time to come to terms with it and while it didn't terrify him as much as he imagined he still didn't feel quite up to telling her. The last thing he needed was her getting all hysterical on him; she could be bad enough on a perfectly bog-standard day.

As it turned out he'd been getting his kecks in a twist for nothing. After they'd done the business again – which was even better than he'd remembered it being – she hadn't talked and talked at him. In fact it was the longest amount of time she'd gone staying quiet. She'd stroked his face as they lay there, just simply breathing one another in, and as he looked at her he knew then that it was going to be alright. She wouldn't ask anything from him and he wouldn't do the same from her, and things would go on just as they needed to be, which was fine with him. Fighting the rot together and bunking up afterwards. His idea of bliss.

Everything was right with the world; the ground solid beneath his feet, the booze flowing and Bolly looking bloody gorgeous. _Alex_. He could hardly believe that she was actually choosing to stick with someone like him, but he knew better than to try arguing with her.

"Right," he raised his voice, clapping his hands together as he appraised the bunch occupying several tables, all of them quickly falling silent in his presence, "it seems to 'ave escaped your collective notice that DI Drake and myself 'ave successfully overcome quite the challenge over the past month. And given that most of you doubted that we'd last five minutes then I think we deserve a bit more than just yer respects."

He glanced over to the bar, where she was sitting watching him take command. He felt the need to act the part even more than usual with her looking on.

"Twenty quid off all of you, and we want it before you get too pissed to forget."

A few reasonably expected grumbles went round but nobody would refuse their Guv, pulling the notes from their pockets when his hand asked for each payment in turn.

"And it'll be fifty from you, Raymondo," he demanded when he got to DS Carling.

"Ahh, Guv!"

Gene remained unswerving. "Don't think all your smart remarks went by unheard. Count yerself lucky I'm not dockin' you a week's wages."

Ray reluctantly paid his way, finding just enough to scrape together.

"Thankin' you kindly. Now if you don't mind, Lady B and I 'ave got some business to discuss, so you can all get back to drinkin' yerselves stupid."

Having been dismissed once more the team quickly got back to chatting amongst themselves.

"Yeah, well now I 'aven't got anythin' left to do that," Ray scoffed, staring woefully into his pint glass that was nearly completely drained.

Shaz smiled, her hand sidling over to rest upon Chris's knee as she glanced towards the two senior officers huddled close together at the bar.

"Didn't I tell you it'd happen?" she exclaimed, pleased as punch at how glaringly obvious it was that Ma'am and the Guv were together, even if they were managing to keep their hands off one another while they were still in view of them all. She didn't claim to take all of the credit for making it happen, at long last, but she couldn't help but feeling that her suggestion had given them a firm shove in the right direction. DI Drake was positively glowing and she'd never seen the Guv so happy. She was absolutely chuffed for them.

"I give it two weeks before they're at each others' throats again. They'll get bored soon enough," Ray huffed. Of course he'd got involved with the banter and smutty insinuations about the pair of them, but the prospect of the Guv and Drake coupling up left him feeling deflated. It was bad enough that he'd lost Chris to a bird, he couldn't have the Guv going all daft and soppy as well. Yeah, that'd never happen; hell would have to freeze over or otherwise City would win the league, whatever came first. Still as he looked over at them he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd be the odd one out, the gooseberry amongst them, and he sulked silently in disappointment.

Chris was strangely silent on the matter until he looked around, first at the Guv and DI Drake, and then sheepishly at Shazza and Ray.

"I...er...I heard _things,_ " he said, his voice low and his eyes wide. He didn't think he'd ever forget hearing the Guv in the throes of passion, the sounds haunting him to this day. Still, it made sense that it was with DI Drake. He wasn't so thick that he couldn't see the attraction between them and if it meant that they'd stop arguing every five minutes then he was alright with it. She certainly seemed to smile a lot more these days and the Guv was cheerier too, like he'd been when they were in Manchester.

"And you call me the pervert," Ray pointed accusingly at Shaz, before he smirked towards Chris. "Go on then, tell us all of the sordid details."

"Ignore him, baby," Shaz told Chris sweetly, her hand rubbing against his thigh. "Although if you remember enough, then perhaps you could tell me and we could try a few things for ourselves?"

Chris's eyes lit up at that prospect, a grin filling his face.

"That sounds ace."

"Oh, bloody 'ell," Ray exclaimed, putting his head into his hands. He really could do with another pint, or several.

Alex watched in near-disbelief as Gene spread the notes he'd acquired upon the bar, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

"The founders of the Benevolent Fund are going to be bowled over, DCI Hunt."

His blue eyes were penetrating as he gazed at her, shuffling the money back into a pile.

"Well, I'll give them 'alf. But I was thinking that the rest could be for us to treat ourselves. We did 'ave to go through a hell of a 'ardship."

"Charming," she exclaimed, folding her arms against her chest. "I'm sorry that it was such a harrowing experience for you."

He smirked towards her, separating the pile neatly into half and then beckoning the owner of the trattoria back from the far side of the bar.

"Luigi. A bottle of yer finest Bollinger, if you please."

"Straight away, Signor Hunt," the Italian complied eagerly, a not-so-secret smile upon his face.

Alex couldn't stop herself from giggling, watching Gene grapple with the bottle, releasing the cork without too much froth escaping free. He filled two flutes that Luigi had provided along with the bottle, passing one into her hand.

"What d'yer think," he asked, clinking the glass he kept for himself against hers, "will I get into yer knickers, finally?"

She smiled before taking a slow sip, the bubbles of the champagne fizzing upon her lips.

"All you ever needed to do was ask," she replied, getting a kick out of the passing indignant expression on his face. Putting the glass down, she slid her hand over to cover his. "That's not to say it won't help tonight, though." She leaned in closer so that she could whisper in his ear. "And I don't think we'll need glasses to polish off the rest, either."

A low growl escaped him, his hand moving to rest on top of hers.

"Bloody hell, woman, you are something else altogether."

"I'm glad you're finally catching up."

He smiled as she lifted the glass upwards, pulling back to raise another toast.

"Unbeatable," he said, looking her straight in the eyes – one of those stares of his that she found inescapable and irresistible. "That's what we are."

Well, that was true, strictly speaking. She felt a swell within her chest thinking of everything that had been overcome, of him and of them being together as one, for as long as she could imagine.

"Unbreakable, Guv," she answered him, a smile blooming upon her face. " _Gene_."

He clinked her glass sharply in reply.

"Unbreakable, Bols," he replied, pausing before he uttered a final word, sealing the promise that existed between them. " _Alex."_

* * *

 **A/N: I think what they say says it all :) I cannot resist a happy ending (isn't that what fic is for, after all?)**

 _ **Everybody's Got To Learn Sometime**_ **written by James Warren and performed by The Korgis. One of my favourites out of many favourites from the A2A soundtrack.**

 **I don't want to promise too much too soon but there will be a little one-shot and longer sequel from the same 'timeline' in the offing...**

 **Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed or favourited - it really does mean so much :)**


End file.
